


No Recourse

by Sorka42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Chuck is God, M/M, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 49,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5772790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorka42/pseuds/Sorka42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sam falls into the Cage, Dean is given a chance to change history but how do you undo a plan centuries in the making?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the NaNoWriMo of 2015. It was posted in rough form as it was being written on the Rough Trade writer's sanctuary. It has been betaed by the wonderful Hergerbabe. Thank you!

Stull Cemetery. Kansas 2010

Sam punched Dean so hard he felt the bones in his face shatter. No, it wasn't Sam. It was Lucifer wearing Sam's body. Each blow broke something, each swing brought Dean closer to death. He knew Sam was in there somewhere trying to fight, trying to gain control. If he could just buy Sam a little time, find some way to reach him. “I'm here, Sammy,” he gasped. “I'm here. I won't leave you.”

Lucifer held him against the Impala's passenger side, his fist once more raised, a look of determination and glee twisting Sam's face. It looked like he was going for a final blow when something happened. One moment it was Lucifer, the next Sam was there, eyes wide with shock and regret.

“I've got him, Dean. It's okay.” Sam said to him, backing away. “I've got him.”

Dean could only watch through eyes nearly swollen shut as his little brother staggered away from him and the Impala. Sam pulled out the Horsemen's rings and said the incantation. A hole in the fabric of space and time opened up in the ground of the cemetery and air rushed in. Dean wanted to stop him, wanted to call his brother back from the edge, even knowing that Sam only had moments before Lucifer would probably regain control of his body. 

“Sam, stop.” Michael called. Had he recovered from the burning holy oil faster than Cas had predicted? Dean wasn't sure. He only knew that Castiel's attempt to give Dean time to reach Sam had cost him his life. “Step away from to pit, Sam. I have to fight my brother,” Michael continued. “It's my destiny.” Sam ignored the archangel, looked Dean in the eyes, threw his arms wide and began to fall backward into the hole. 

Dean felt a jolt of shock as Michael reached out to Sam and tried to stop him. Sam grabbed onto the archangel and pulled him into the pit with him. Moments later, the ground closed up, leaving no trace of either Sam or their half-brother Adam. 

It was hard to know how to feel. The Apocalypse was averted at the last possible moment. The world was safe from the schemes of angels and devils. But that didn't matter to Dean at the moment, because for him, the truth was, he didn't care. Everyone he had ever cared about, his entire family, was gone and all he could do was stare at the spot on the ground where his brothers had met their fate. 

** ** **

The air was cool and dry, the grass under Dean's knees was a little damp and somewhere nearby, a bird began to tentatively chirp. Everything hurt. Dean couldn't move, not just because of the multiple broken bones in his body, but because he couldn't find the will. He was broken in his soul, more so now than when he had been tortured in Hell. He had lost everything. 

Sam was gone. Their half brother, Adam, who he had only known for a few days, was gone. If he looked to his left, he could just make out the still form of Bobby Singer, the man that had been a better father to him than his own flesh and blood. Castiel, the angel that had saved him from Hell, who had turned his back on Heaven to follow Dean, because it had been the right thing to do. There wasn't enough of him left to even bother trying to bury. 

There was movement to Dean's left, a shadow fell over him, blocking the sun. It took more effort than he thought it was worth to turn and see who it was. For just one moment, he hoped it was Sam, that some miracle had occurred and his brother was safe. Instead, he stared up into the furious countenance of the last remaining archangel, Raphael. 

“What have you done?!” Raphael grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet. Dean could feel the bones in his shattered jaw shift and grind against each other even as he weakly struggled against the inhuman strength. 

“Ugh,” Dean choked.

“Where are Michael and Lucifer?” he demanded. He shook Dean like a rag doll then tossed him to the ground. 

If Dean could have screamed, he would have, as he felt his back and hips shatter from the impact. He couldn't make his body move now, something in his spine had severed and there was blood bubbling up into his mouth and nose. 

“You will speak.” Raphael demanded, grabbing him again. 

Dean felt parts of his body suddenly heal. Any hopes he'd have of a swift death were dashed. “Gone,” he managed through busted teeth.

“What do you mean? Where are they?” Raphael twisted Dean's left arm until something snapped. 

“In the cage,” Dean replied, gasping in pain. He had no reason to lie. “Sorry. No paradise for you, asshole.”

“I will make you beg for death, Winchester,” Raphael replied. 

“Raphael, stop!” A voice that Dean didn't expect to ever hear again said. Dean turned his eyes toward the voice. There in the tall grass was Castiel, whole and looking better than he had in weeks. His friend stepped forward shoved Raphael away from Dean. The archangel flew a dozen yards across the field to land in an ungainly heap.

“This is not possible!” Raphael said. “You were destroyed by Lucifer.”

“And yet here I stand,” Castiel said, standing between Dean and the archangel. “What does that tell you?” 

“No!” Raphael drew his sword. “It was foretold. There must be a battle. Michael must fight the Serpent.” 

“There was...” Dean said softly. “They both lost.” He felt a bubble of hysteria in his chest. Was this really going to keep happening, with Raphael against Castiel instead? Hadn't both sides lost enough?

“It is over, Raphael,” Castiel said calmly. “Now go or I'll kill you.”

“You will regret this, Castiel,” Raphael said, then he vanished. 

“Cas...” Dean tried to speak, but it hurt. 

“Dean.” Castiel knelt next to him, his bright blue eyes wide with concern. 

“I'm a mess.” Dean tried to smile. 

“I'll heal you,” Castiel replied and reached to place his fingers on his forehead. 

Dean closed his eyes and he felt a wash of clean pure light fill his entire body. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't in Stull Cemetery anymore. He was in a place that was a white landscape as far as he could see. There was no sky, no ground, though it felt like he was standing on something. There was nothing but a small desk with an old fashioned typewriter sitting on it. Sitting at the desk, was Chuck Shurley, the prophet. He was dressed all in white as well. His beard was neatly trimmed and he looked healthier than Dean had ever seen him.

“Chuck?” Dean called, thoroughly confused.

“Hello, Dean.” Chuck smiled up at him sadly. There was something about him, something different. This wasn't the man he knew at all. 

“Who are you?” Dean demanded. “Where the hell am I and where's Cas?” 

“You know who I am.” Chuck said. 

“Are you...” Dean took a step back. “You're God?”

“You've always been pretty astute,” the man before him said. “Except when your emotions are overriding your common sense. But that really isn't a design flaw in you, that's a feature.” He smiled like a proud father. “Despite all the odds, you managed to win.” 

“Some victory,” Dean said, angrily. “My brothers are in a hole with Lucifer and Michael. Raphael's gunning for both me and Cas and Bobby...” Dean felt sick. “Bobby's soul went to Hell because Crowley never gave it back to him.” Rage well up in his chest. “That's not a victory, it's a fucking tragedy.”

“I know.” Chuck held up his hands placatingly. “I should have realized how intractable Raphael was a long time ago. He won't stop hunting you and Castiel down until he gets what he wants.”

“So what?” Dean asked. “Are you going to step in and fix this?” 

“No.” Chuck replied. “As I said through Joshua, this isn't my problem. I'm done.” 

“Then what the hell was the point of all this?” Dean demanded. “Why are you even talking to me?”

“I said I won't fix this,” Chuck said. “I didn't say it couldn't be fixed.” 

“Make sense,” Dean demanded. “Or so help me, I will punch you in the face.” Instead of making the thing wearing Chuck angry, he smiled. Which freaked Dean out all the more. 

“I want to offer you a chance to fix things,” Chuck said. “To change what happened so that the Apocalypse doesn't happen at all.” 

“Wait, what?” Dean felt like he had be hit with a brick, he was so stunned. 

“I will send you and Castiel back to a moment in time from which you can make changes,” Chuck said. calm and placid. He raised a hand and Castiel appeared next to Dean. 

“Dean?” He looked around in shock, at the sight of Chuck his voice went up an octave. “Father?”

“You've done well, Castiel, but now there is an even greater task for you if you are willing.” 

“What is going on?” Castiel asked, turning to Dean for answers. 

“Your dad wants us to change the past,” Dean said.

“You'll only have one chance to make things better. Time and fate can only be meddled with so much before things begin to unravel,” Chuck warned. “After this there are no do-overs, no recourse. If you screw it up, it's on you.”

“When would you be sending us back to?” Dean asked. He was going to go, no matter when it was. Any chance to make things better, to change what had happened was worth taking. 

“The year 2003, June of 2003 to be more precise.” Chuck said. “I had considered sending you back to 1983, to stop Azazel from cursing Sam, but your four year old brain wouldn't be able to handle the emotional stress of your adult memories.”

“Wait,” Dean stared at Chuck in confusion. “My four year old brain?”

“I'm not sending you physically,” Chuck said. “Having two Dean Winchesters alive at the same time would be too much stress on the fabric of the universe. Despite what Zachariah may have told you, the future he supposedly sent you to was nothing more than an elaborate construct. Much like the TV Land that Gabriel had trapped you and Sam in a few months ago.”

“So none of that was real?” Dean thought back to the vision of Sam as Lucifer, triumphant in his white suit, of Castiel, powerless and addicted to drugs. He closed his eyes thinking that he had kill that winged bastard to quickly. “It was all a lie to make me say yes to Michael.”

“Of course.” Chuck shrugged. “What better way to manipulate you than to show you your worst fears come to life.”

“So what are we doing then?” Dean asked.

“Castiel will take your soul and travel back to 2003, where you will both merge with your younger selves.”

“What is significant about that moment in time?” Castiel asked. 

Dean thought back, it had not been long after Sam had left for Stanford. “I was doing a lot of solo hunts at the time. Dad thought it would help me take my mind off of worrying about Sammy being off at college.” That hadn't been the only thing on his mind at the time, but if he remembered the events correctly, any aberrant behavior on his part might be chalked up to his breakup with Cassie. 

“Exactly,” Chuck said. “It will give you time to adjust and work on ways to fix the future.” 

“I am to merge with my younger self as well?” Castiel looked uncertain. 

“Yes,” Chuck replied. “Can't have two Castiels running around either. The Host will believe you have been given an important assignment on Earth, which is true.” Chuck touched Castiel's shoulder and the angel's whole body began to glow. “This will give you enough power to make the journey without draining your Grace. Remember, you will be without a lot of the resources that you have come to depend on.”

“Father...” Castiel began, but stopped. Dean wondered what he was going to say. It was hard to predict what the angel was thinking at any one time.

“It's alright, Castiel. Go now,” Chuck said. “I'll be rooting for you both.” He faded away taking the desk and everything on it with him.

** ** ** 

Dean took a deep breath and faced his angelic friend. He wasn't sure how the soul only time travel was supposed to work, but he figured they had done the time traveling thing before. “So how do we do this?”

“I need you to relax and let me in.” Castiel said. He pressed his hand onto Dean's chest. 

“I trust you, Cas,” Dean replied earnestly. For a moment nothing happened, he just felt the warmth of Castiel's hand through his clothes. Then a burning sensation began, Dean tensed automatically, but he looked into Cas's eyes, which were now glowing with power. It was like he was falling into those bright blue eyes. Then he wasn't in his body anymore. He could see all around him all at once, a three hundred and sixty degree view. The most startling part wasn't seeing his now lifeless body on the ground. No, it was Castiel. 

He could see him as he was in his vessel, the dark hair and stubble, with the black suit and the coat, with the blue tie that was always crooked. But beyond that was the true form that seemed to stretch out forever. Bands of light radiating from three heads, one humanoid, one a wolf, and the last one, an owl. There were two sets of wings, that were black and silver in radiating patterns of glowing feathers. 

It had been far too long since the days when Dean would have killed anything not human. Seeing Castiel like this, was nothing short of breathtaking. Maybe he would never admit it to anyone, but he thought the angel was beautiful. Castiel spread his wings wide and they flew. 

Okay, maybe calling what they did 'flying' was a gross understatement. The universe shifted around them as more colors than Dean had any hope of ever naming flashed around them. Each wing beat threw sparks as they crossed time and space. The glow of his own soul illuminated Cas's face, which was pinched with focused determination. 

It was over faster than Dean thought it would take, but then he hadn't been conscious for his trip back to the 1970s, and the ride he and Sam had made to the 1980s had been bumpy, because Cas had been nearly out of Grace. Without warning, they were standing before what Dean could only have described as a lesser version of his friend. 

Dean couldn't understand what was being said, no matter how many times he'd heard them speak, he had never been able to understand the True Voice of the angels. Whatever his friend had said to his younger self, it was enough to get him to agree. The two forms merged in a bright flash of light, the older Castiel absorbed the younger until only one remained. It didn't look like a pleasant experience for either of them, as the remaining being staggered for a moment and then straightened. 

“Are you okay, Cas?” Dean asked. Though it was more thought projection than actually speaking. 

“All is well, Dean,” Castiel said. “We have merged successfully.”

“If you say so,” Dean replied, not sure if he believed him. 

A moment later they were standing inside a crappy motel room in Long Island, New York, with a young Dean Winchester sleeping soundly in the single full sized bed. There was a couple of beer cans and a bag of take out food on the table nearby as well as a line of salt across the windows and the door. 

Dean couldn't remember the last time he had slept that soundly. Between his memories of Hell, the flashbacks from Sam dying, and nightmares from some of their worst hunts, sleeping through the night without some sort of chemical assistance was a far away memory. 

A part of him didn't want to do this, to take away the last of his younger self's innocence, but there was so much to lose so many would die if they didn't stop the Apocalypse before it started. If he could save his family from the fate that Heaven and Hell had planned out for them, it would be worth it. 

With Castiel's help, he entered into his younger self's dream. He found the dream was a recurring, good dream. He was sitting on a set of bleachers watching Sam playing soccer, but the ball was a alive and would try to bite anyone that kicked it. He sat down next to the other Dean, startling him. 

“Well this is a new twist,” young Dean said. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Believe it or not, I'm you, about nine years from now,” Dean replied. 

“What are you, the ghost of Christmas Future?” young Dean snorted. “You look like about ten miles of bad road. What the hell happened to you?”

“Things didn't work out so great in the future.” Dean admitted. “It went as bad as you could possibly imagine.”

“Dad?” 

“Gone,” Dean replied.

“Sammy?” Young Dean started to get upset. 

“Gone too,” Dean admitted. “The end of the world. We stopped it, but the cost was too high.” 

“So are you here to warn me?” young Dean asked. The dream dissolved and they were sitting in the Impala on a rainy night. 

“No, I'm here to fix it,” Dean replied. “But to do that, I need to be you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because then we can stop it from happening.” Dean looked out into the rain. It was the night he had lost Cassie. The night he had told her about hunting, the night she had kicked him out and told him never to come back. “You think losing Cassie was bad? You think Sammy going to Stanford was bad? That's nothing compared to what is down the road. The thing that killed Mom is still out there, just waiting, and this time I know where it'll be. We can stop it, before it destroys what is left of our family and save thousands of lives in the process.” 

“How do I know you aren't some monster that got through my wards?” young Dean asked. 

Dean smiled. “Rhonda Hurley. She had us try on her silk panties when we were nineteen. We kinda liked it.” 

Young Dean ducked his head and grinned. “Yeah, we did.” 

The dream's landscape changed again, now they were standing outside a gym with a sign that read “Beginner's Yoga” with class times. Through the glass they could see Lisa Braeden doing something very athletic. Dean thought of Ben, her son, who could have easily have been his. Sam had wanted him to go to her to find the normal life that had always eluded them. It was Sam's dream to be normal. Dean may have yearned for it at times, but he knew better. Hunters might stop actively hunting and become consultants for younger more physically fit ones, but they all left the life the same way, bloody. 

“So, what do you say?” Dean asked. “Want to save the world?” 

“Always,” young Dean replied and held out his hand. 

“For what it's worth, I'm sorry you're gonna see all of this,” Dean said as he took it. He then wrapped his arms around his younger self and pulled him inside his own soul. It hurt, the memories of Dad's death and Sam's. Thoughts of Ash, Richie, Victor, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, Pamela, Anna, Gabriel, and all the people that had died because they had tried to help them. Sam drinking demon blood and killing Lilith. Letting Lucifer free. Meeting Death. Everything that had happened rushed forward and the younger more innocent Dean faded away, subsumed by the weight of twenty years more existence as a prisoner in Hell than he had been alive. But then the light of Castiel coming to rescue him. The friendship that built over small victories, and mutual trust. Finally the hope that they could do this impossible thing, because they had to.

 

Dean opened his eyes and looked around the hotel room. Castiel was sitting on the edge of the bed watching him. 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel smiled, just a little. 

“You know that's creepy, right?” he replied slowly sitting up, taking stock of his younger body. He had a few aches and pains. A tightness in his face that he recognized as a black eyes that was just starting to form. His left index finger was stiff from when it had been broken a few months before. He forgotten what it was like, dealing with the old injuries from years of hunting.

“Yes, you've mentioned that on occasion.” Castiel looked him over. “Are you well?” 

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “I think so.” He could feel the lingering emotional ache of having lost Cassie like an echo. But the knowledge that Sam was, right now, alive and happy at Stanford lifted his spirits. He stood and turned on the table lamp. He went to get a look at the supplies in the duffel bag. He remembered he liked to travel with as much equipment as he could, but there were things that, at the time, he hadn't owned. Things he wouldn't know would be useful for years. His old EMF meter was there, he had only just created it last week out an old walkman and a few spare parts he had picked up at a yard sale. 

“What were you doing here?” Castiel asked, curious. 

“I had just finished the case with a succubus,” Dean said as he looked around. “My friend Richie had left a few hours ago, saying he had to meet with someone about... who knows what.” 

“What did you do the first time?” 

“I left in the morning. Drove back West to meet up with Dad in Oklahoma, hit a few bars along the way to hustle pool.” Dean remembered vaguely. “Sam should be alright for the moment, I want to reach him in the next month or so. This is the year that his friend Brady was possessed, if we can get that demon before he does too much damage, we'll be heading in the right direction. But we need to make a couple stops alone the way.” 

“I could just fly us where we need to go.” Castiel offered. 

Dean knew Cas meant well and admittedly flying Angel Air was a hell of a lot faster, but he wasn't leaving the Impala, ever. “We're driving, because I'm not leaving Baby on Long Island. But also because we're making stops at places where people know me. They're gonna want to know why I'm suddenly showing up and since most of them are going to be hunters, they are going to think I'm a shape-shifter or something if they don't see her.” He started gathering up his things, throwing them into his bag. 

Castiel frowned. “I suppose you are correct. It would be very out of character for you.” 

“You'd rather spread your wings and fly.” Dean guessed with a grin. 

“You can't blame me for wanting to.” Castiel glanced away. “When I was cut off from Heaven, I was slowly fading away. When I was brought back again, restored to existence, I was elevated in my stature. While I'm not an archangel, I am greater than I was.”

Dean stepped up to him and place his hand on Cas's shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Trust me, your mojo is going to get a workout by the time this is all over, but for now we do this the low profile human way.” 

“Where are we going first?” 

“First I need to get my anti-possession tattoo put back on.” Dean paused thinking about that. “Or put on early, I guess. Because if we're gunning for Yellow Eyes, I'm not leaving myself vulnerable.”

“I can do that,” Castiel offered. “I can also make it so that you will be hidden from demons and angels alike. It will save time.” 

“Okay,” Dean agreed. He pulled off the t-shirt he had woken up in to expose his chest. Castiel looked at him critically, his eyes shifted and focused on Dean's left shoulder. “What is it?” he turned his head and saw a patch of discolored skin. “What the hell?” Dean walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. It was the hand print scar, made when Castiel had pulled him from the pit, now it was merely a faded outline. It was nothing like it had been before, but it was still clearly the shape of a human hand. There was also a black eye starting to develop, but that had been caused by fighting the succubus. 

“The mark is on your soul,” Castiel explained. “The scar is a physical representation of our journey out of perdition. It only makes sense that the mark would be present even here.”

“Well, I can't do anything about it,” Dean sighed. “I'll just be sure not to go shirtless around Dad.”  
He turned to Cas again. “Okay, lets do this.” 

Castiel placed his hand on his chest, where he had originally had the tattoo. His skin tingled as the sensation spread. “I am going to add a few other protections. You're entirely too prone to getting hurt.” 

“It's part of the job, Cas,” Dean reminded him. He felt Castiel sending a wash of healing energy through him. In the mirror, he could see the bruising fade away to clear healthy skin. The small hurts and misaligned joints from past injuries faded as well. He smiled at the angel. “You just can't stand to see me all banged up.”

“The amount of damage that had been done to your body when I rebuilt you was not typical, even for a hunter,” Castiel said. “Not one so young. I think you were driven to hunt so often by your father.” He pulled his hand away finally and looked at his work. “I think this will do nicely.”

The tattoo was very similar to the plain black flaming pentacle, but there were two thin rings around the original shape. “What are the rings?”

“Enochian protections.” Castiel said. “Resistance to poisons, like those used by Sirens and Succubus. The second is to cloak you from any form of remote viewing, whether it be angelic, demonic, or magical.” 

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean pulled his shirt back on. “I don't know why more hunters don't have them. Hell, Dad went after Meg and he didn't even bother. We had to get charms from Bobby after Sam got possessed.”

“Unless you were a professional exorcist or a dedicated researcher of the demonic like Bobby, I doubt you would have had need of them,” Castiel replied thoughtfully. “There was very little obvious demonic activity for hundreds of years. Those demons that were active were weak compared to the ones that were released at the opening of the Devil's Gate. I doubt it even occurred to your father to take such precautions.” 

“Yeah well, you get to meet the man himself in a couple weeks,” Dean promised. 

“Do you think that is wise?” Castiel asked. 

Dean was silent for a moment. He had wondered occasionally what his father would have thought if he had ever met Castiel. Dean's first reaction had been less than stellar, but John Winchester was a ruthless son of a bitch when it came to anything he considered a threat. 

“We're not going to tell him you're an angel,” he replied. “We'll tell him you're a hunter but more of an academic. An expert on mythology, biblical lore, and demonology.” He smiled at the idea, it wasn't even a lie. “We met here in Long Island, because you were already tracking the succubus.” 

“And why would I be traveling with you?” Castiel asked.

“I'll tell him I'm taking you to see Bobby,” Dean replied, finding he enjoyed weaving the tale. “You want to take a look at his book collection. I offered since you don't know how to drive.” A thought occurred to him and he grabbed his cell phone. He stared at it like it was an antique. “Oh man, I forgot I had this piece of crap.” He scrolled through the numbers and dialed Richie. 

“Hey, Dean,” Richie said. “I didn't expect to hear from you so soon.” 

“Yeah, well, I was thinking about what you said about that bookie you know.” Dean put his finger to his lips to keep Castiel from saying anything. 

“What about him?” Richie asked. 

“What kind of odds would he give a World Series pick, right now?” Dean asked.

“Right now?” Richie exclaimed. “Why would you deliberately throw away money like that?” 

“Just ask him,” Dean said. “And call me back. I'm going to be heading back out to Nebraska tomorrow and I'd rather put the money down in person.” 

“You don't trust me, Dean? After everything we've been through? I'm hurt.”

“Just call me,” Dean said and hung up.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

“I'm looking out for our future.” Dean replied. “I remember I was really short on funds the next year, because something had happened and Dad insisted he needed all my ready cash. I got hurt on a hunt less than a week later so I couldn't hustle pool like I normally do. I am not resorting to what I did the first time ever again.” He had resorted to prostituting himself for about a week. He'd made enough money to get gas and feed himself while he waited for his father to get back from where ever he had fucked off to. It hadn't been the first time and it hadn't been the last time either. But this was a new time line and he knew things that no one else did. He would use that to his advantage so that he never had to do anything like that again.

“You're speaking of financial gain.” Castiel frowned. “That is not why we are here.” 

“Look, Cas,” Dean sighed. “You know me, you know everything I've ever done to survive. Can you honestly say that you're okay with all of the things I did? Because I'm not. One bet, the results of which won't be known for months yet, and if the bookie pays up I won't have to worry about credit card scams or hustling pool for at least a year.” 

Richie called back while Dean was driving out to Staten Island where the bookie was set up. 

** ** **

He walked out of the bookie's shop a few hours later, Richie following him with a confused expression. Dean had carefully put the bet ticket in his wallet and felt a wave of relief that he had made this decision. 

“So let me see if I've got this straight,” Richie said, scratching his head. “You're reading the sports section this morning and you just decide that you're going to drop five hundred bucks on a long shot bet, that the Florida Marlins are going to beat the New York Yankees in the World Series this year.”

“Yep,” Dean said with a cocky smile. “Sometimes, man, you gotta go with your gut.” 

“The Marlins aren't even in the running, the Yankees are cleaning house all over the place.” Richie threw his hands up in exasperation. “Hell, you're not even going to know who is in the World Series for months. Did that succubus shake your brain loose with that punch or what?” 

“Richie,” Dean sighed. “The bookie took the bet, whats the problem?”

“Of course he took the bet. You never turn down a sucker's money,” Richie replied, exasperated. 

“And if I win, at a hundred and seventy-five to one odds,” Dean said. “I'll win nearly ninety thousand dollars.”

“You're insane,” Richie said, giving up. “So where you off to again?”

“I'm going to head west to meet up with my father, but I need to make a few stops along the way.” Dean looked at his friend a long moment. “Richie, listen, do me a favor.”

“Anything, man,” Richie said. 

He pulled out a drawing of the anti-possession tattoo. “This is a protection symbol that'll keep you from being possessed. You get yourself a charm like this and wear it all the time or get it tattooed on your body somewhere.” 

“Demons?” Richie backed away. “I'm not messing with demons man.” 

“Sometimes they mess with you,” Dean said. “Take it. Please.” 

“Fine, fine.” Richie took the paper and looked it over. “I can always add a little more ink.” 

Dean gave his friend a quick hug and hoped that Richie would stay away from any job dealing with demons. He didn't want to think about how he had found his friend's body. Richie's neck twisted so far around that his chin had been touching his spine. He had lost too many friends. This time, he needed things to go differently. 

He climbed into the Impala and drove off, heading for the Goethals Bridge. He hated having to cross into New Jersey, but 78 was the best way to get to Pennsylvania from where he currently was. 

** ** 

 

It took them three days of driving, but they finally made it to Blue Earth, Minnesota. Dean had called ahead to let Pastor Jim Murphy know that he was on his way. The red brick church stood as a center piece to the average mid-west town surrounded by farmland. It was a nice place with lots of good people living normal average lives. 

St. Paul's Lutheran Church was located right across the street from the elementary school. Which had been great when he and Sam had stayed with Jim on several occasions. The pastor had been insistent that they attend school for however long they would be staying. It was probably his focus on more than just the basic skills of learning that had instilled Sam's love of school and learning. 

There was a nice two-story house on the property that was used as the rectory where Jim lived. He had been the pastor of the church for more years that Dean had been alive and had quietly protected his community from the dark forces of the night all of his adult life. There was a hidden room in the basement that housed all of his hunting equipment. He had been more than happy to teach John what he knew and in the process taught Dean as well as Sam when they were old enough. 

Dean pulled the Impala into the rectory's parking area and stared up at the brick house. He had a lot of good memories here. Some of those memories were tainted now with the understanding that this place could have been a safe haven for himself and Sam, if their father had just taken a step back from his vengeful quest. 

The door to the rectory opened and Pastor Jim waved in welcome. “Come on,” he said to Castiel as he climbed out of the car.

“Dean!” Jim greeted him his arms wide. “It's good to see you, my boy.”

Dean willingly stepped into the embrace and held the other man tight. The familiar scent of pipe smoke and candles filled his air around him. He felt tears prick in his eyes, and he had to blink them away before Jim noticed them. “It's been too long.” 

They pulled apart and Jim turned to look at Castiel. “Who's your friend?” 

Dean smiled. “Pastor Jim Murphy, this is my friend, Castiel Novak. Cas, this is Pastor Jim.”

“It is a pleasure to meet someone that Dean holds in as high regard as he holds you, Pastor Murphy, ” Castiel said formally. 

“You can call me Jim,” he replied, obviously flustered by the severity and formality of Castiel's speech.  
As well as the lack of any attempt to shake his hands. 

Dean had tried to explain the standard greetings when it came to meeting people, but it wasn't really any surprise that his friend had decided to ignore it all in favor of being stiff and formal. 

“Thank you,” Castiel replied. “You may call me Cas if you wish.” 

“Right.” Jim blinked, his eyes slid over to Dean questioningly, who was so amused by the entire exchange that he just grinned at him and shrugged. “Well, I set up the guest room with the extra fold out bed if you need it. So let's get you situated and then we can have a nice chat.” 

Dean grabbed his duffel and followed, motioning Cas to do the same. Cas's bag held two changes of clothes. It was the most he could get his friend to take. Angels could clean and repair their vessel's clothes as easily as they healed wounds from standard weapons. However, if they were going to stay some place for more than a day or two with someone as sharp minded and observant as Pastor Jim, questions would arise. 

Dean and Cas entered the kitchen after getting the room settled to find Jim nursing a cup of coffee. The room was much like Dean remembered with a few minor updates. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat across from Jim. Cas looked at the coffee pot and back at Dean before mirroring his actions.

“So, Dean, you want to tell me what's going on?” Jim said kindly. “Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you, but you've never visited here on your own.”

“Sorry about that,” Dean replied. He had always liked Pastor Murphy, but he had distanced himself from the man years before his death. He'd regretted it when they learned that Meg had killed him. But now he had a chance to make part of this right. 

“I don't blame you, son,” Jim said. “I know it wasn't because you didn't want to. John drilled it into your head not to bother asking for help until you were really desperate.”

That gave Dean pause. There were a lot of things he resented about the way his father had raised him and his brother. Was it possible that John had deliberately isolated them to the point of training them to keep even fellow hunters at a distance? “Dad was just trying to protect us.” It was what he would have said at this time in his life, but his heart wasn't in it. 

“I'm sure John had his reasons,” Jim replied. “I have a lot of respect for him as a hunter, but I think he was often too focused on his need for revenge to see what he was doing to you boys.”

“Maybe he didn't think he had a choice,” Dean replied.

“Maybe,” Jim said with a shrug. “So tell me, what is it that brings you to my door with a man I've never heard of?”

“Maybe I just wanted to catch up?” Dean suggested. He winced when both Castiel and Jim rolled their eyes at him. 

“Maybe you should just come out and say it,” Jim suggested. “That way we can get past the awkwardness and enjoy this visit.” 

“Your place of worship, while sanctified and on holy ground, is not warded properly,” Castiel said.

“Excuse me?” Jim reared back in surprise. 

“It may protect you from the minor denizens of Hell. However, any one of a dozen named demons could easily walk in here and rip your throat out.” Castiel continued. “We have come to remedy this issue.”

Dean hung his head, not at all surprised by Cas's outburst. “So much for being subtle,” he sighed.  
“Cas is an expert in demonology.”

“Really?” Jim's tone was incredulous. “Where did you study?” 

“Europe, but that is not of import,” Castiel replied. “I know Dean would have liked to do this in a way that is more respectful, but you, as a priest and a hunter, should know better. There is not a single devil's trap in place anywhere in the building. Your air conditioning vents are wide open and the iron that you installed years ago has long rusted past the point of being effective. You have become complacent in your sanctuary and that will be the death of you.”

“He's serious?” Jim turned to Dean.

“As a heart attack,” Dean replied. “I got information from a very reliable source. Things, seriously powerful things, are starting to come out of the woodwork.”

“What sort of things?” Jim asked, warily.

“Demons from deep in the pit,” Castiel said gravely. “It's been a long time since they were on Earth, but they have begun to dig their way out.” 

“How do you know this?” Jim demanded. “I haven't heard anything like this from anyone.”

“It doesn't matter,” Dean said. A part of him wanted to tell Jim the whole story, but he doubted the man would believe him. “Just- you have to believe me when I say that things are going to start getting ugly in the next couple of years, and you need to be prepared.” He watched as Jim looked at them both, his expression was guarded. 

“What does your father think about this?” Jim asked. 

“He doesn't know yet,” Dean replied, honestly. “I'm going to tell him in person, but there are a few other stops I need to make before we join up with him.” 

“You drop this kind of information and you want me to sit on it and do nothing?” Jim said. 

“No!” Dean replied earnestly. He stood and started pacing the kitchen. “Hell no. I want you to start calling every hunter you know. Tell them to stock up on supplies and equipment for hunting demons. Holy water, iron, salt, and if anyone has a line on weapons that can kill one, get them working on that too.”

“Dean, you sound like you're talking about an end of the world scenario,” Jim replied. “I can't sound an alarm like that without some sort of proof.” 

Dean turned to Cas, who nodded and stood. They had talked about this on the drive out. How they would try to convince Pastor Jim without pulling out the big guns. Unfortunately, most hunters didn't take things on faith. They needed proof, even hunters that believed in god. 

“We've known each other a long time,” Dean said. “I know I was a handful when I was growing up. Getting into trouble all the time, fighting with the bigger kids at school. But in all that time, did I ever do anything to make you think I would exaggerate about something that was a matter of life and death?”

“No, you were always honest with me,” Jim admitted. “But Dean, you're asking me to put an awful lot of faith in you. Do you have any proof that you can show me?” 

“You believe in God?” Dean asked. Sam had believed, Sam had prayed all his life or so he had said. He wondered if Pastor Jim had been the one to instill that faith.

“You know I do.” Jim replied, looking at him askance. “It is part of the job.” 

Dean snorted. “There are plenty of people that say they believe, but that are just going through the motions.”

“True, but I'm not one of those,” Jim replied. “For all the evil that we fight, there is also a great deal of good. They balance each other. I believe that God had a hand in that balance.”

“Do you believe in angels?” Dean asked.

“Angels are the messengers of heaven,” Jim replied. “Warriors of God. I suppose if I believe in one, it should go without saying. I admit though, as a hunter, there is little evidence to support the existence of angels. What's with the questions? You were never one to believe in divinity.” 

“I don't believe in God,” Dean replied vehemently, his vision clouded with rage at how fucked up things had gotten at the end. “Because God is an asshole that decided to go play skeeball in New Jersey while his kids jump start Judgment Day.” The image of Zachariah grinning at him as the angel twisted a memory of his mother into a sick parody. The worst part was he couldn't separate the manipulation from the real memory anymore. He was going to find that winged dick bag in this time line and end him.

“Dean,” Castiel called softly. 

Dean looked up at the touch of Castiel's hand on his shoulder. The coffee cup he had been carrying in his hand now lay in fragments all over the flood of coffee where he had thrown it. “Damn it.” He looked over to Pastor Jim who was staring at him with wide eyed concern.

“Dean? Did something happen to you?” Jim asked. 

“It's been a long time since we've seen each other,” Dean replied. “A lot of things have happened.” He tried to downplay it with a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. 

“Pastor Murphy,” Castiel said, not taking his eyes off Dean. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation later? Dean is fatigued from his long journey.” 

“Yes, of course,” Jim stood. “Dean, why don't you go relax. I have to make a few calls anyway.” 

A few minutes later they were back in the guest room. Dean sat on the bed, head in his hands. “What the hell was that?” 

“You had a flashback, I believe,” Castiel said. “You have been through more than any one being should be expected to handle. It is only natural for there to be... issues.”

“Issues.” Dean snorted. “Great, I've got time travel related PTSD.”

Castiel knelt in front of him, his hands rested on Dean's knees. “I am here for you, Dean. I will help you in any way I can.”

“Just don't let me – don't let me hurt anyone,” Dean replied.

“You won't,” Castiel assured him. “Get some rest. I'll see to Pastor Murphy.”

Dean laid down on the bed, fully clothed save for his boots. “Not sure I can sleep.”

“Would you like me to help with that?” 

“Yeah, just this once,” Dean replied. There was a light brush of fingers against his forehead and he knew no more.

** ** 

 

It was the next morning when Dean finally woke from his dreamless sleep. He felt better, more rested than he had in a long time. He rubbed his eyes and scratched at the stubble on his chin. He needed a shower and a shave in the worst way. A quick glance around found the other bed was empty, not really a surprise as Castiel didn't require sleep. But there were signs that his friend had been in and out at least a few times while he was asleep. 

After taking a long shower, Dean made his way to the kitchen, he was in the process on making breakfast when Pastor Jim came in, looking tired. “Morning,” Dean greeted. “Want some coffee?” 

“Please,” Jim replied taking the cup. 

“Long night?” Dean asked.

“Your friend is quite the scholar,” Jim replied. “I spent half the night with him going over how to ward the property. Never met anyone that could freehand a protection symbols like that.” 

“He's remarkable for a nerdy little guy.” Dean smiled. “Speaking of, do you know where he is?” 

“He went over to the church,” Jim said “Something about better radio reception.”

That got Dean's attention. If Cas was trying to listen in on Angel Radio without being noticed, a church was probably a good place to go. 

“What's his story?” Jim asked. “He seems a little... formal, for a hunter.”

“Well, like I told you on the phone, Cas is more of an academic than a hunter,” Dean replied. “He had a very strict, isolated, religious upbringing. So his social skills are pretty much crap. But what he lacks for in small talk, he more than makes up for with his knowledge in lore.” 

“You know he has an angel's name, right?” Jim asked. 

“Yeah, I know,” Dean smiled. “His family was really big on that sort of thing.” 

“You seem better this morning,” Jim commented cautiously after they had eaten breakfast in silence for a few minutes. 

“I've been going though a bit of a rough patch,” Dean admitted.

“So it seems. John stopped by a few months ago,” Jim said. “He told me about Sam leaving for Stanford.” 

“Did he?” Dean replied. “What did he say?” 

“That he'd said things that he might not have if he hadn't been so angry,” Jim said. 

Dean snorted into his coffee. “I bet.”

“Does what happened last night have anything to do with Sam leaving?” 

“In a way,” Dean admitted. “But not in the way you might think. Listen, I really can't talk about it.” 

“Can't or won't?” Jim asked seriously. 

“Can't,” Dean replied. “I'm dealing with it the best way I know how, and that is to save people and kill the evil things that lurk in the dark.” 

The door opened and Castiel came back in, he was wearing one of the other sets of clothes that Dean had picked out for him. A nice dark brown pair of slacks and a matching jacket, with a black v-neck pull over underneath. 

Dean swallowed hard, as the thought occurred to him that Cas looked really good. He had bought him the suit at the second hand shop because it was his size and it was ten dollars for all of it. But he hadn't thought about what the change of clothes would do to the angel's appearance. He had only ever seen him in that dark blue suit and tan jacket except for when he had been in the future, but that Castiel was nearly a completely different person. 

“Would you like some breakfast, Castiel?” Jim asked. 

“No thank you,” Castiel replied. “I do not require- I am not hungry.” 

Dean winced inwardly. His friend was getting better at this, but he still said stuff that proved his inhuman nature. At least this time he caught himself. 

Cas placed the small notebook he had been carrying on the table. “This is a set of protections that I suggest you implement as soon as possible.” 

“All of this?” Jim flipped through ten pages of sigils and instructions on how to set them. “This will take weeks.”

“Perhaps it is a bit excessive, but it is not just to protect you, but also those in your flock,” Castiel said.  
He turned and gave Dean as significant look. “We should probably continue on our journey.” 

Dean stood and nodded. “You're right. Dad's expecting me to meet up with him.” 

“You're leaving so soon?” Jim asked, surprise and disappointment evident. 

“Can't have Dad lecturing me about my lack of discipline or dedication to the cause,” Dean said with a level of sarcasm that was definitely not normal. 

“You call me if you need any help,” Jim said. “Are we clear?” 

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

“Come here.” Jim pulled Dean into a quick hug and shook Cas's hand. “You be careful out there.” 

“We shall,” Castiel promised. 

A little while later they were back on the road. “Are we heading to meet with your father?” 

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “I'm pretty sure Jim is going to be calling Dad any minute now, if he hasn't already.” 

“I placed protections around the church while you and Pastor Murphy were sleeping,” Castiel said. “They will not be visible to human eyes, but no demon will be able to enter the buildings.” 

“Thanks, man,” Dean said with a sigh of relief.“What about the stuff you gave Jim to do?” 

“They will augment the existing protections.” Castiel replied smugly. “If done properly, nothing with evil intent, even a corrupt human, will be able step foot in the church without being compelled to leave.” 

“Good.” Dean smiled. He reached into the battered shoe box that held his cassette collection and slid Rush's “Moving Pictures” album into the player. The first drum beats of “Tom Sawyer” lifted his spirits even more as they made their way to the main highway.

** ** 

The drive down to Oklahoma was a long and boring repetition of wheat fields and cow pastures, broken up by small towns and giant truck stops. Even knowing that Castiel was sitting right next to him, Dean couldn't help but feel the ache of Sam being gone. He knew that Sam was at this moment, alive and well in California, but he kept turning to share a thought or a joke with him. When he saw Cas, he remembered that Sam had fallen into the Cage, that he'd sacrificed himself to save the world. 

The closer they got to where he'd promised to meet up with his father, the tighter his stomach got. He kept trying to relax, because he'd make himself sick if he kept that up. The music that had soothed and lightened his spirits six hours ago now made his teeth grate. He grabbed another cassette at random and shoved it in. Led Zepplin started howling at him and he ejected the tape and tossed it into the back seat.

“Perhaps we could drive with the radio off for a while?” Castiel said next to him.

“It's too quiet if we do that,” Dean snapped at him.

“You're anxious,” Castiel observed. 

“Really? What clued you in?” 

“Dean, pull over,” Castiel said.

“What? Why? We're ten minutes from the motel.” Dean turned his neck from side to side, trying to loosen his stiff muscles.

“Pull over or I will do it for you,” Cas said in obvious frustration.

“You wouldn't.”

Castiel let out a huff and placed his hand on the dashboard. The Impala's engine sputtered and stalled, forcing Dean to pull over to the side of the road. 

Dean put the car into park and stared at the angel in horror. “You messed with Baby's engine! What the hell?” 

“I did not hurt the engine. It will start again when I allow it,” Castiel said.

“Why did you do it?” Dean felt betrayed, no one hurt his baby, not even Cas.

“Dean look at yourself. You're a nervous wreck,” Castiel said. “You're in no condition to see your father.”

“I'm fine!” Dean yelled. He didn't know why his voice was shaking. His hands were shaking too. 

“You're not,” Castiel said quietly. 

Dean climbed out of the car and slammed the door. He stumbled over a hunk of grass and sat down hard on the ground. He gripped his hair and pulled at it like he was going to rip it out of his head. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he couldn't catch his breath. “I can't breathe,” he gasped. “I can't--”

“It'll be okay, Dean,” Cas said quietly in to his ear. 

Dean thought he must have flown the tiny distance to be so close so quickly. He grabbed onto Castiel and hugged him hard. “What's wrong with me?” 

“Could it be that you are afraid to see your father?” Cas suggested. 

“What? Why would I be?” Dean shook his head in denial.

“Maybe you aren't afraid of him, exactly.” Castiel offered. “Perhaps you are afraid of what you will do when you see him again?” 

That brought him up short, he pulled out of the embrace to look at the angel in confusion. “But I...” He was going to say that he loved his father. Of course he wanted to see him, be with him again, but the words caught in his throat. 

“Remember when you told me about the message from God that Joshua had given you?” Castiel said. “Do you remember how angry I was?” 

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Hard to forget an angel on a bender.” 

“When God brought me to you when you disappeared from Stull Cemetery, I could barely look at him,” Castiel said. “I was so angry I wanted to punch him. But I was so grateful to be alive again, that I wasn't able to do anything at all. I froze. I am millions of years old, and yet I could not rationally deal with my father after all that had happened in less than two years time.” 

“So you think I'll punch him in the face?” Dean asked. Now that he said it out loud, the possibility that he might have actually done that seemed more than possible. 

“The thought had occurred to me,” Castiel admitted. “Dean, you must be careful what you say to your father.”

“I know, I know,” Dean said slowly calming down. “He'll notice that something is off. Though I gotta tell you, he is not going to like that I've got you with me.”

“I would offer to become invisible,” Cas said. “But I think it would be better for you, if he had me as a distraction.” 

“Besides, I'm sure Pastor Jim told him all about you already.” Dean groaned and let himself fall backward into the grass. He gazed up at the partly cloudy sky and wondered if the two of them could really pull this off. He hadn't realized he had spoken his fears aloud until Castiel replied.

“Yes, I think we can,” Castiel said. “The first time, there had been a conspiracy to start the End Times. No one other than those directly involved knew. We know everything that happened. We know Azazel needs the Devil's Gate opened in order to release Lilith and his army. We know they need a Righteous Man to break the first Seal. We keep those things from happening, we protect those that need protecting and this war will be stopped before it begins.”

“It sounds so easy when you say it like that.” Dean chuckled and rolled up onto his feet with the agility that only a twenty year old could have. “We deal with Dad for a while, go see Bobby, then we head for the Devil's Gate. We'll seal that bitch up so tight that even a meteor won't budge it.”

“Shall we then?” Castiel gestured to the Impala which promptly rumbled back to life.

“I'm still pissed at you,” Dean muttered as he petted the dashboard. 

“I think I can live with that,” Castiel replied with a nonchalance that Dean suspected he had learned from him.

** ** 

The ten minute drive to the hotel was much calmer than the previous six hundred miles they had traversed. The Starlight Star Bright motel was your typical crappy, low end, poorly maintained, roadside establishment. The paint was peeling off the Vacancy sign and there were weeds growing in the cracked concrete walkways. 

Dean pulled in next to his father's late 80s GMC pick-up truck. The thing was covered in a thin layer of muck around the wheel wells, which meant that where ever John had been, it had been off the paved roads. 

The door numbered '8', which was right in front of the truck swung open as Dean and Cas climbed out of the car. Then John Winchester was standing there hale, hearty, and pretty pissed off. Dean recalled that in the previous time line he and his father had gone on some bullshit research trip. It had been a lot of driving and dusty newspaper archives with no real explanation as to why they were doing it. Only that John had wanted to explore the legend of a supposedly cursed highway. 

“Hey, Dad,” Dean said with a winning smile. 

“Dean,” John greeted, his eyes flitting from Dean to Castiel and back. “Who's this?” 

“Dad, this is Castiel Novak,” Dean said, putting his right hand on his angel's shoulder. “Cas, this is my father, John Winchester.” 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester.” Cas held out his hand, in greeting, as Dean and Sam had taught him over and over again. 

Unfortunately John appeared to be in a less than gracious mood. He ignored the proffered hand and turned to Dean. “You're late.” 

“Sorry, sir,” Dean said automatically. “I got a little sidetracked.” Castiel lowered his hand and narrowed his eyes at the eldest Winchester.

“So I see.” John's eyes raked over Castiel's appearance. “Pastor Jim called. Told me all about you.” He pulled himself up to his full height. 

Dean nearly snorted at the posturing. His father was, if nothing else, possessive of his family. He had thought it was because he was overprotective. Now Dean wondered if John had deliberately chased away the few friends he'd made over the years to keep him in line. 

“Really?” Castiel replied, as unimpressed as ever. “We had a very pleasant stay with Pastor Murphy. He was quite interested in my suggestions about warding and protections.” 

“I'm sure he was,” John replied. “I don't see how this involves my son.”

“I offered him a lift,” Dean said. “He doesn't drive and taking a bus from New York to South Dakota would seriously suck.”

“Not my problem,” John replied. “We have a job and it doesn't include side trips.” 

“I gave my word I would take him to Bobby Singer's place,” Dean crossed his arms. “If the job is an emergency, Cas can just come with us while we take care of it.” 

“We don't need some wide eyed civilian getting in the way,” John ground out. 

“I am not, as you say, a civilian,” Castiel said, calmly. “I am a warrior and I know more about the monsters of this world that most hunters could possibly learn in a lifetime of digging up graves and making silver bullets.” 

“Warrior?” John snorted. “Is that the line you fed Dean?” He turned to Dean. “I might expect Sam to fall for a bullshit story like that, but you? I suggest you get your things and start walking because this is where your free ride ends.” He tried to shove Castiel's shoulder in a show of strength, but the angel didn't budge. 

“I do not require your approval or your permission, John Winchester,” Castiel replied. “I am with Dean because we are friends. If you are unhappy with that, then perhaps it is you who has the problem.”

Dean saw the flash of surprise in his father that quickly switched to anger. He considered warning his father, but he wasn't feeling very charitable at the moment. He had made the mistake of trying to use physical force against Cas in the past and damn near broken his hand against the angel's jaw. 

John threw a punch that hit empty air as Cas sidestepped the blow easily. Cas grabbed the offending arm and wrestled John to the ground in less than a minute. He backed off and let John up, only to be attacked again. Dean just sat back on the hood of the Impala and watched with massive amounts of schadenfreude as Castiel gently, for him anyway, dismantled all of John's attacks.

“Are you done making an ass of yourself, Dad?” Dean asked his father, who was once again on the ground. John glared at him as he climbed to his feet. He adjusted his clothes and stormed back into the motel room. A few minutes later he came out with his bags in hand and tossed them into the back of the truck. 

“We're wasting daylight,” John practically growled. 

“Okay, where are we going?” Dean asked, not moving from his perch. 

“I want to check out Route 491,” John said. “There are rumors of a Black Dog haunting it.”

“The legend of Route 666?” Dean hung his head. “Which section?” 

“What?” John turned in surprise.

“Dad, route 491 is two hundred miles long,” Dean said. “Is this just a research trip or is there a case?” 

“Are you questioning me?” John asked in disbelief. 

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied. He slid off the hood and faced his father. “Because as much as I like checking out possible hunts, I'd feel better with more information.” 

“We'll talk when we get there.” John climbed into the truck.

Dean remembered how this had gone the first time. He had still been broken up and angry over Cassie. He's let himself fall into the pattern of following orders so that he could distance himself from the pain. It had been a week into the job before he realized that the hunt was a giant waste of time. He shook his head. 

“Not this time, Dad.” 

“What is with you?” John snarled, frustrated. “You're late, you're giving me lip. ”

“Maybe I'm just tired,” Dean replied feeling every one of his seventy years of conscious existence. “You say jump and I say 'Yes sir'. I don't even ask how high. How about I ask a question and you actually give me an answer?”

“I don't have time for this,” John said. “I gave you an order.” 

“That is your answer to everything, isn't it?” Dean looked right at him. “Give orders and expect them to be carried out without question. Expect one hundred percent from the people around you, even if they don't have all the information. God forbid anyone question an order or ask for more information.” 

Dean didn't flinch when John practically jumped out of the truck, but his insides were quivering. A part of him was yelling that he was acting just like Sam had for years. That this was his father and he shouldn't question, should just do as he says, because that was what he always did. This was the man that would sell his own soul to save him in a little less than four years time if things continued as they had before. That act would send Dean into a tailspin that he'd never really recovered from.

“Do I need to remind you why we do this?” John asked. “What we lost?” 

“Of course not,” Dean replied. “But I'm not some toy soldier you can wind up and send on its way. I want to know what is going on. Not just that need to know crap that you drilled into my head all these years.”

John turned to Castiel. “What did you do to him?” 

Castiel stared at him, incredulous. “You believe that I have somehow bewitched your son? Do you have such a low opinion of him, that you do not believe he is capable of independent thought?” 

“Look, Dad, I actually have a better idea than that highway.” Dean said. “There is a place in Wyoming that I heard about. An old cowboy cemetery, one that they say Samuel Colt owned back in the eighteen hundreds.” 

That got his father's attention. “Samuel Colt, the gun maker?”

Dean glanced at Castiel, who gave him a tiny nod. “Yeah, some historical society on the East Coast wants to make it into a park or something. They think Colt's ghost still haunts the place.” 

“Yes,” Castiel said. “My research has suggested that Samuel Colt might have been working with an elite group of hunters, researching different ways to defeat monsters.”

“And you want to check it out?” John said. 

“Well, Cas and I were going to go investigate it after we left Bobby's, but I thought I should check in with you.” Dean wondered after all the years of lies and half truths he'd told, if his father even knew what he looked like when he was speaking the truth. 

“I suppose it could be a better use of our time,” John hedged. It was obvious that he really wanted to go. The idea that Colt's pistol might be there was all he would need to want to go. “You show me on a map where this cemetery is and we'll go there instead.”

Dean grinned with relief. Maybe they could do this without ditching his father after all. He climbed into the back of the Impala and grabbed the topographical map of Wyoming. He would never forget where that damned place was. It marked his greatest victory, but also his worst personal choice. While he had never regretted bringing his brother back from the dead, the cost to himself and his brother emotionally, was too high. 

“Here we go.” He pointed to the place marked on the map. 

John studied the map. “This is in the middle of nowhere.” 

“Exactly,” Dean said. “But here is the interesting bit. The cemetery is surrounded by five churches that were all built by Colt. Each church has a rail line that connects to the other churches.” He felt odd doing this, showing his father what it had taken four days of research to figure out. He took out a pen and drew lines to each of the churches creating a star pattern. 

“What is that?” 

“Cas thinks it's a giant devil's trap,” Dean replied, giving his friend a wink over his father's bent head. 

“You figured this out?” John turned to Castiel, suspiciously.

“It is a working theory,” Castiel said. “There is a chance that it is a coincidence, but we won't know until we investigate it.” 

“Let's go.” John took the map with him as he climbed back into the truck. 

Dean shared a look with Cas and rolled his eyes to the sky. “Come on, he'll leave us in the dust if we don't keep up.”

They drove in silence for a while, the truck ahead of them. “So that was Dad.” 

“He was once a kinder man, I think,” Castiel said. 

Dean's chest constricted when he thought back to his faded memories of when Sam was a baby. “He was.” He was quite for a few more miles before he spoke again. “I'll never forgive them; demons, angels, Lucifer, Michael. I'll never forgive what they did to my family.”

He felt a touch on his right hand where he had been resting it on the bench seat. Castiel covered his hand with his and for once, Dean let it continue, taking comfort from the physical contact. Their fingers laced together and Dean felt like this was the only anchor keeping him sane. 

“I can not forgive them either,” Castiel said. “But I do not regret that the course of events brought us together.” 

** ** ** 

Reaching the first railroad crossing that marked the largest devil's gate in the United States was weirdly anticlimactic for Dean. After all he had been there before with Bobby, Ellen, and Sam. Of course the first time had been a race to try and stop the gate from opening. They had failed to prevent it, but they had killed Azazel. 

Dean watched with amusement as both Castiel and his father examined the railroad ties, intact after all this time. They followed the overgrown road as far as they could. The last five miles were too overgrown even for his father's 4x4 pickup, trees had sprung up in the middle of the road over the past fifty years, making it impossible. The walk was pleasantly quiet and uneventful, with the occasional sighting of wildlife to break up the scenery. 

The wrought iron fence around the cemetery was not in nearly as good a shape as the rail ties had been. In the future, the gate had already fallen off its decayed hinges. Now it was just barely holding on. Dean grabbed a set of leather gloves from his back pack and gave the gate a rattling tug. While flakes of rust flew everywhere, it held fast. 

“That could give you tetanus just by touching it,” he said with a grimace. 

“I find that highly unlikely,” Castiel replied, then added. “But it is wise to be cautious.”

John grabbed his own set of gloves and grabbed the gate. “If we all pull together.” 

Dean shrugged and grabbed a hold again, Castiel did so on his other side, using his jacket to cover his hands. The jagged, crumbling iron wouldn't hurt him, but John would probably notice any cuts healing inhumanly fast. 

Once inside, they explored the graves. Most of the headstones had been carved out of sand stone, which was the most easily obtained material in the area. At the center of the cemetery was a small mausoleum. The structure was made of granite and marble, the roof was slate shingles, the center of the door held the lock that was an inset ornate metal design. It didn't look like much, at first glance, covered in dust and dirt from years of neglect, but upon further inspection, Dean could see iron and silver hand been inlaid into the lock's design. There were runes carved above the door, something Dean had missed completely when he had been here before. He supposed he was a little distracted at the time. 

“What is this?” John asked, examining the door. “I've never seen anything like it.”

“It is a Devil's Gate,” Castiel said gravely. 

“Cas, the runes.” Dean pointed them out as his father walked to the far side of the structure. “Am I wrong or is that Enochian?” 

“You are correct.” Castiel stepped closer and began to translate it. “Can you read it?”

“A little,” Dean admitted. “A bargain struck. Seal the Gate. Lock and key. Forbidden... something Forgive us?” 

“Very good, Dean,” Castiel praised him. “Not exact, but close enough. 'A bargain was struck to seal the gate under lock and key. Forbidden to destroy it. May our children forgive us.'” 

“I can't figure out what those symbols on the bottom are though,” Dean replied, frustrated. “I don't think those are Enochian.” 

“No,” Castiel nodded. “The first is an Aquarian star, the next are two Norse runes meaning young horse.”

“I guess Colt was here then,” John said coming back into view. “A young horse male horse is a colt.” He looked at Dean with narrowed eyes. “Picked up some new skills there, Dean.” 

“You never stop learning,” Dean said with a shrug. “Not in this job.”

“Amazing what one can achieve when one is encouraged,” Castiel replied dryly, his comment directed at John.

Dean rolled his eyes and dropped his pack and opened it. He pulled out a tube of metal epoxy that he had bought on there way there. “Okay, let's do this.” 

“What are you doing?” John asked. 

“What does it look like?” Dean opened the tube, pressed the end into the crease of the lock where the plates turned. “I'm sealing this son of a bitch so it'll never open.” 

“What?” John pushed Dean away, but it was too late. The epoxy was already deep within the mechanism. “Why did you do that? That crypt could hold the key to killing the thing that killed your mother.”

“It does not,” Castiel said. “That is a devil's gate. A doorway to Perdition. If you opened it, legions of Lucifer's demons would be released.” 

“Demons?” John looked at the door. “That's what you're obsessed with. Pastor Jim told me you were an expert on demonology.”

“Among other things,” Castiel replied, though his eyes were fixed on the gate. 

“I should have thought to bring a welding torch,” Dean said as he emptied the entire tube of epoxy into the gears of the lock. “But this should stop it from opening even if someone does manage to find the key.” 

“Yes, I doubt that whoever designed the door thought that anyone would attempt to sabotage the gears with a chemical compound.” Castiel stepped up to the door and held out his hand until it was almost touching the gate. 

Dean watched him for a minute, then dug back into his pack to bring out several waterproof permanent marker pens. “Think you can seal it the rest of the way?” 

Castiel took the markers and uncapped the first one. “With pleasure.” 

Dean stepped back to watch as Castiel drew dozens of Enochian sigils in neat lines across the the granite walls of the mausoleum. John came over to stand next to him watching intently. 

“You knew this place was here,” John said after a few minutes. “You came prepared.” 

“Yeah,” Dean replied. There was no reason to deny it. “We did.” 

“You lied to me,” John said. 

“I didn't lie.,” Dean replied. “I just withheld some information.” He leaned against a tombstone. 

“What were you thinking?” John demanded. “Keeping this from me, trusting this stranger over me. You've know him, what, a few weeks?” 

“I've known Cas a long time,” Dean said. 

“Where did you meet? When?” John demanded. “Who is he to you?” 

“I know you don't like him. You don't trust him, but he's the best friend I've ever had,” Dean replied honestly. “He gave up everything he knew to do the right thing. And he did it for me.” He turned to his father. “Can you honestly say you've sacrificed anything in this quest of yours?” 

“What are you talking about?” John was taken aback. “I've given up everything we had for this.”

“No you didn't,” Dean said, anger starting to build. “You got exactly what you wanted. Because your need for revenge superseded anything that anyone else wanted. Because finding Mom's killer, getting revenge, was all you cared about.” 

“You sound like you think I've enjoyed this life,” John said.

“I think you hate it, I think you want a normal life,” Dean replied. “But I also think you're kidding yourself if you believe this will end with that creatures death. I know it won't end for me.” 

“What do you mean?” John asked 

“On my last birthday, you wrote in your journal how you were sorry that you couldn't allow me to 'cut the apron strings' until we were free of Mom's ghost. That once that thing was dead we could go back to living normal lives.” Dean shook his head. “Well guess what, Dad. I can't be normal. I left normal when I was four years old. Do you have any idea what it is like to grow up hunting?” 

“That was private, you had no right,” John said sharply. “I did what I did to protect you and Sam. I didn't hear you complaining in the past.”

“Of course I didn't complain,” Dean said. “What was I supposed to say? Please don't leave us alone in a motel room for days at a time? Please don't forget my birthday? Please leave enough money this time, so I don't have to ration food like some war refugee? You marked every one of my and Sam's birthdays, but I can remember you actually being there maybe a dozen times between all of them.”

“You're sounding more like Sam,” John said with disgust. “Selfish and spoiling for a fight.” 

“Selfish?” Dean laughed bitterly. “I'm selfish? When I've given up everything I ever wanted, everything I ever cared about outside of family. Because Sammy and you came first over anything else, and I was glad to do it. But I gotta tell you. Dad, I had my eyes opened. It seems I was the only one giving up on their dreams. I mean, Sammy's at Stanford. How amazing is that? With a full ride scholarship. Do you know how proud I was when he told me? But I couldn't admit it, because it meant he was leaving.”

“I don't need to listen to this bullshit,” John growled. “He wanted out, he walked away.”

“Because you didn't give him a choice,” Dean shouted. “It was your way or the highway, right?” He got into his father's face staring straight into his eyes. “He kept it a secret until he was ready to leave. You hated that he did that more than anything, that he lied to you. But then you've been keeping secrets too, haven't you? Tell me, Dad, when were you going to tell me about Adam?”

John reeled back in shock taking several steps back. “Where did you hear that name?” 

“Adam Milligan, son of Kate Milligan and John Winchester. Funny how you used your real name on that case. Born in September of 1990.” Dean chuckled bitterly. “I did the math, it wasn't hard. You missed my birthday that year. I was eleven, I was waiting for you to come home, because you had promised you would be there. Meanwhile you were off fucking Kate. Tell me, Dad, did the condom break or did you just not care?” 

The punch, when it came, was expected. It certainly wasn't the first time he had experienced violence at the hands of his father. But it gave Dean the excuse he hadn't realized he had been looking for. He launched himself at his father, raining blow after blow on him. Some of the punches were blocked, but it was obvious that John had not expected retaliation. “You selfish son of a bitch! You obsessed bastard! You think you can make up for never being there when Mom needed you by avenging her death?”

“How dare you.” John retaliated with his own punches. “I loved your mother. She was everything to me!”

“Really?” Dean made an ugly laugh. “How many times did you two spend weeks apart? You think I don't remember how often you two fought? Over money, over family, over Mom getting a part time job? You think I don't remember? Did you think I was too young to know?” 

John shoved at him, his eyes blazing with rage and pain. “No, it wasn't perfect! But it was all we had. If I had the chance to do it over again, I would have cherished her like the gift she was.” 

Dean pushed John up against one of the trees. “So now you've got a chance at normal again, with a son that doesn't know anything about monster or hunting. That's just great, but what happens when something comes for them? Have you done anything to protect them?” They were both bleeding and bruised by the time he ran out of steam. The anger still boiled inside him. 

“Nothing is going to happen to them,” John denied. “No one knows he's mine.”

“Ghouls reproduce just like any other monster. Did you even bother to check to see if it had any offspring?” Dean sighed at the look of consternation he saw. “The kids? They have a tendency to retaliate.”

“You're talking like these things are people. They don't have the same motivations that humans do,” John replied. 

“And who taught you that?” Dean asked. “Henry? Elkins? Maybe they don't have the same morality of humans, but they all have the same basic motivations. Food, shelter, and reproduction. Safety, home, and family. Call it whatever you want, they feel it. And they'll seek revenge if they have a target.” 

“I cleaned out that town.” John reiterated. “They're safe.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” He turned and walked over to where Castiel was waiting quietly next to his backpack. “You want to take Adam to ball games or fishing, fine. I really don't give a fuck. But if you want to wage war on the monsters of the world, you better make sure the people you love are protected.” 

“Do you feel any better now?” Castiel asked him. 

“You know, I think I do.” Dean wiped the blood from the side of his mouth and looked back at his silent, stunned father. “Thanks for not getting in the way.” 

Castiel gave him a stiff shrug and a smile. “I noticed something while you and your father were working out your differences.” He motioned to the scattered graves. “The Aquarian star appears on several headstones, but I do not believe that there are any graves under them.” 

“How can you tell?” John asked through a swollen lip. Dean noticed he was keeping his distance, which suited him just fine, because he wasn't in the mood to deal with him again. 

“There is no sign of settling in the soil,” Castiel replied. “A hundred years of decomposition with no one to maintain the grounds, these should have been at least a few inches lower than the surrounding area.”

John opened his backpack and pulled out three folding shovels. “Pick a headstone and start digging.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at his father. “Was that an order?” 

“Please,” John ground out through his teeth. 

“Sure thing, Dad,” Dean replied with a level of satisfaction that probably wasn't healthy. 

They set to digging, probably a little slower than they would have, as both himself and his father were now pretty well battered. Castiel made the most progress, though Dean was pretty sure he was cheating by using his grace to make the hole deeper with each shovel more full than should be possible. Dean looked up when he heard the angel's shovel hit something metallic. 

“You got something?” Dean asked as he climbed out of his own hole. 

“I believe so.” Castiel reached down and pulled out a metal strongbox. It was covered with a crust of sand and rust so they took a few minutes to clean it off. There was a bead of wax along the seam and an old fashioned padlock. The top of the box was engraved with an Aquarian star. 

“What is with this symbol?” Dean asked. 

“I've seen this before,” John said softly. Dean looked at him in surprise, to find his father's eyes fixed on the symbol.

“It does have mystical symbolism,” Castiel said. “Perhaps in your years of hunting--”

“No not from hunting,” John said. “My father had a ring and a tie tack with this same symbol.”

“Your father?” Dean asked. “You mean Henry Winchester? The guy that ran off when you were eight?”

“Yeah.” John acknowledged. “He was going to some meeting for a club he belonged to. He said he'd tell me about it when he got back, but he never returned.”

“Let's see what else we can find,” Dean suggested as he grabbed his shovel and started digging again. All told, they found six sealed boxes of various sizes. One was covered in protective symbols designed to keep whatever was inside from escaping. That one Dean reburied at Castiel's suggestion, because he could feel something malevolent within it. It helped that John had been on the far side of the cemetery and hadn't noticed when they found it. They stuffed the three that fit into the back packs and carried the rest with them. They reached the vehicles just as it turned full dark and decided to make camp there for the night. 

John pulled out a camp stove from the bed of his truck and set about heating up a couple of cans of stew in a small saucepan while Dean pulled out his old green cooler and handed beers to everyone. After they ate, Dean sat with one of the smaller boxes in his lap, working on the lock with a set of picks and a can of WD-40. Castiel and his father were talking softly next to him, but he was able to split his concentration so he could listen in.

“What do you remember about your father?” Castiel ask John.

“He was very straight laced,” John said after a long silence. “Wore suits when he went out. But everyone did back then. He was always reading or writing things down. He would go on business trips and be gone for a few days. When he came back, he would be tired, but excited.” John shook his head. “Every time I would ask him what he did, he said he would explain it when I was older. When I learned how to keep secrets.” 

“That's a weird thing to say to a little kid,” Dean muttered to himself. 

“I remember Mom was always so patient, like she knew he was doing something important, but was willing to let him keep his silences,” John continued. “When he vanished, the money dried up and Mom was forced to find a job. I swore I would never let my wife work a day in her life.”

“Notice how he said that, Cas?” Dean said. “Let? Yeah, I'm sure that went over real well with Mom.”

John turned and glared at him, but his shoulders slumped tiredly. 

“Did you ever meet anyone from this group?” Castiel asked.

“Maybe.” John shook his head. “What does it matter? He's long dead and he took whatever secrets he was going to tell me about his little book club with him.” He stood and stomped of into the darkness. 

“What are you thinking, Cas?” Dean asked. 

“That perhaps there is more than one reason that John Winchester was chosen to be the father of Michael and Lucifer's true vessels.” Castiel replied. “We need to get to Bobby's, one of his books had a reference regarding the Aquarian star. It did not seemed relevant at the time.” 

“We'll check--,” Dean started to say, but the lock opened with a loud clack. “Yahtzee!” He set it down next to the camp lantern and pried open the lid with his belt knife. The inside of the box was coated with some sort if greasy substance. “Well that's kinda gross.” 

“Smells like tallow.” Castiel said. “It makes an excellent natural preservative for metallic objects.” 

“Right.” Dean used his knife to scrape away the tallow to a tightly wrapped waxed paper package. He lifted it out carefully and closed the lid. “Cas... Does this look like?” It was shaped like a knife. A very familiar knife.”

“Dean, open the package.” Castiel said as he leaned in close, his eyes bright with excitement.

Dean cut the strings holding the waxed paper together and uncovered the mystical demon killing blade that he had taken from Ruby. “Holy shit.” He looked up at Castiel. “Now we know where it came from.” 

“Ruby must have dug it out after the gate was opened and the devil's trap destroyed.” Castiel agreed. 

“What is that?” John asked coming back into camp.

“It's a knife,” Dean said. He was reluctant to let his father handle it. The image of John being possessed by Azazel flashed in his head, but they were safe here. 

John took the blade and turned it over in his hand. “Interesting,” he said. “But not really practical. You'd have to get in really close to use it. Assuming it does anything special.” He handed it back to Dean with a carelessness that spoke of a complete dismissal. “I wonder what else is in those boxes.” 

“Well, grab one and start working on the lock.” Dean suggested. He took the knife and placed it in the Impala for safe keeping. There was no sheath for it in the box and he had never actually had the one that Ruby used in his possession. He might try and make one for it later, now that it was his again. 

The next box was long and narrow, from the size Dean guessed it was some kind of rifle. He was surprised to find a sword. It looked pretty unremarkable in the waxed paper, but he heard Castiel gasp when he grabbed the handle and held it aloft. 

“Be careful with that sword Dean,” he said. “That is Durandal, the sword of Roland; the paladin of Charlemagne. If the legend holds true, which I have no reason to doubt.” Which was code for; listen to me, I am an angel, and I know this shit. “It is preternaturally sharp and said to be indestructible. You could cut your own hand off by accident.” 

Dean's eyes widened and he looked down at the blade with more respect. “How about we leave it in the box then?” 

“A wise choice,” Castiel replied anxiously. 

The third box contained a battered, leather bound book with the Aquarian star on both the front and on the spine along with the words “Stamus Contra Malum”. 

“We stand against evil,” John translated. 

“Well that's a good sign,” Dean said with a sigh. “I was worried to would be something horrible.”

“But why bury them,” John asked, looking around the dark woods. “Why here?” 

“Perhaps these items were hidden here to protect them against the forces of darkness.” Castiel said thoughtfully. 

“If Colt was working with these Aquarians, maybe they didn't have anywhere else to stash their stuff out here.” Dean suggested as he worked on the fourth and last small box. “This is no ordinary cemetery. There is nothing around for at least fifty miles in any direction and a five mile hike in from the most accessible point. You would have to know this is here and then be willing to make the hike. Even the most determined grave robbers would think twice about it.” 

The lock clicked open and Dean held his breath as he lifted the box lid. Again there was the tallow and the wax paper wrapping, around a distinctly square shape. He removed the paper to find a small, plain wooden box with no markings. He lifted the lid and blinked at the custom carved holes each that contained one bullet. Each bullet had a number etched into it, starting from fourteen and ending with twenty-six. 

** **

Dean's mind was racing as he stared at the bullets that could only have been meant for the legendary Colt pistol. The gun that could kill all but five creatures in existence. Samuel Colt had made more. 

The box was wrenched from his loose grip by his father how stared at them with something akin to madness in his eyes. “Fourteen, fifteen...” John muttered to himself. “But the legend said he made thirteen bullets.” He nearly dropped the bullets in a sudden frantic scramble as he grabbed the last unopened box and tried to force the lock open. “It's here, it has to be here.” 

Dean looked over at Castiel, he was worried as well. “Dad, Dad.” Dean stepped up to take the box from him. “Come on, give it to me.”

“Open damn it.” John commanded, but the lock stayed firmly closed. 

“Dad!” Dean put his hand on the box, but was shoved violently away.

“Don't! I've got this,” John said. He pulled out his Glock pistol and pointed it at the lock.

“Fuck.” Dean scrambled away as John fired two shots. The first completely missed, the second ricocheted off the metal and hit the side of a tree. “Dad, stop!” But his father fired again, the third shattered the flood light that was mounted next to the Impala's driver side rear view mirror.

Castiel was at John's side a moment later, he ripped the gun from his hand and shoved him against the side of his truck. “I will forgive your recklessness because you have had a long and emotionally trying day. You are, however, placing not only yourself, but your son in danger. Perhaps you should calm down and allow Dean to open the box, as your desperation had rendered you incapable of rational thought.” 

Dean ignored John's protests as he grabbed the box to examine the lock. “You're a crap shot when you're all freaked out, Dad.”

It only took him a few minutes to open it. He knew the Colt wouldn't be there, because it was currently in the possession of Danial Elkins. Inside the last box was carefully folded piece of cloth. Dean glanced over at his father and saw that he had slumped down on the ground with a defeated air. 

He unfolded the cloth and found it to be pretty plain except for a border of red and blue geometric patterned embroidery. It was perfectly clean and the fabric felt like it was brand new. “It looks like a table cloth,” he said.

“A table cloth?” John repeated. “God damn it.” 

“You want to explain what that was about?” Dean asked. “You damn near shot one of us.”

“I'm sorry.” John looked away. 

“Talk,” Dean demanded. He knew all about the Colt, but he wanted John to actually tell him.

“There is a legend, that Samuel Colt made a special gun for a hunter, like us. A gun that could kill anything supernatural,” John said slowly. “The legend said he only made thirteen bullets, but those bullets, they could only have been meant for that gun. I thought- I'd hoped that the Colt was in that last box.”

“Because you want it to kill the thing that killed Mom,” Dean finished. 

“Yes, so I can end this,” John said. “Not just for Mary, for you and Sam. The trail was cold for a long time but I know what to look for now.”

“Do you know what it is?” Dean asked. If John had known all this time or even suspected the true nature of what he was hunting, Dean was going to have a really hard time not punching him in the face again.

John sighed, still not looking at Dean. “I suspect it might be a demon or something similar.”

“A demon,” Dean echoed. They still had few years before Azazel would show himself, years before Jess would be killed. “And you didn't bother to share with the class?” 

“I'm not a hundred percent sure, but doesn't matter what it is. If I get my hands on the Colt,” John said with determination. “I can kill anything.”

“I think it matters,” Dean replied. “I think it matters a lot, especially since you think this gun means you could take it on solo, right?” He said it as a challenge, to see if his father would deny it.

“No, I wasn't going to tell you, because I don't want you involved,” John said. “This thing has killed dozens of people. It's too dangerous.”

“And so what?” Dean began. “You planning on walking out at midnight on some dusty road like a cowboy in a western?” 

“Of course not,” John said with a glare. “I need to catch it in the act. While it's distracted.”

“You think it so simple?” Castiel snorted, he moved back to their little camp and waited for them to settle. “How many demons have you encountered in your years of hunting?”

“Not many. Half a dozen or so exorcisms.” John said. “I suspected one of Sam's elementary school teachers might have been demonic.”

Dean remembered back when demons were so rare that the very idea of dealing with one seemed very far above his pay grade. His father wasn't inclined to believe that anything was above his pay grade. Here he was, with memories of the worst horrors that Hell could produce. His father, for all his years as a hardened hunter, was horribly naïve about how powerful demons truly were.

“There are many types of demons, John,” Castiel said softly, echoing Dean's thoughts. “Some are simply out to cause chaos and despair. Some are given the task to tempt humans into corrupting themselves into damnation. Some actually have the task of negotiating deals.”

“Crossroad demons,” John supplied. “I've read a lot of lore on those, I wasn't sure that was real or just another legend.” 

“They are very real,” Castiel confirmed. “They will give you anything you want, for a price. That price is always your soul.”

“Right, a contract that says you get ten years to enjoy whatever it is, then you go to hell.” John nodded.

“That is not always the case,” Castiel replied, glancing at Dean. “Demons will take advantage of how desperately you want something. Greed is common, so is revenge, but if the person is asking for something altruistic, the demons will often shorten the time frame. This is usually done out of spite.”

“This your area of expertise,” John said, as if just remembering.

“Among other things,” Castiel replied. “But the most dangerous demons are those that have a specific goal in mind. How it goes about accomplishing that goal is less important than what that goal truly is.”

“Are you saying that Mary isn't important,” John demanded.

“Of course not,” Castiel replied. “But your wife, Dean's mother, was not the only one.” Dean felt his heart constrict at the sympathy he saw in his friend. “As you said there were other fires, other victims. If this is the work of one demon, then there is a bigger picture here than your vengeance.”

That stopped John and his righteous anger in his tracks. “What is it doing then?”

“What do you know about Lucifer's Fall?” Castiel asked.

“Just what they teach in Sunday school.” John shrugged. “Lucifer wouldn't bow to humanity and he was cast into Hell along with his followers.”

“The story you learned as a child does not begin to encompass the horror of what happened,” Castiel said, quietly. “The Morning Star, the most beautiful and beloved of all the archangels, hated humanity so much, that he took a human and experimented on them, on their soul. His hate corrupted that human soul into the first demon. This unfortunate soul was a woman named Lilith.” 

“The first bride of Adam?” John asked. 

Dean felt a shock of surprise. He didn't actually know that part of Lilith's lore. “Was she really?”

“No, but in time the biblical tale was distorted so much that Lilith and Eve were reduced to temptresses, corrupted by darkness, that led man astray.” Castiel sighed. “Lilith became the template from which all other demons were based on. When the war began, many of the angels that followed Lucifer were corrupted much the same way. Their heavenly light blackened until there was nothing left of their angelic nature except their names. Some took great delight in torturing human souls until they too would become demons.” 

Dean thought about Azazel and Alistair, how they seemed so much stronger than the other demons he had encountered. How the more powerful demons just seemed to brush off the strongest protections. 

“So Lucifer runs Hell and lets his demon army corrupt humanity?” John asked 

“That is where humanity got it very wrong,” Castiel said. “Lucifer isn't in charge. When Michael was ordered to cast him out of heaven, a cage was constructed inside of Hell, a place from which Lucifer would be contained and isolated. There he could no longer do any harm. He has not had a direct influence on humanity in hundreds of thousands of years. Just imagine what damage would be done if the legions of hell had their leader back with them.” 

“You think this is some twisted plan to set the devil free?” John asked, incredulous. “Then why vanish or go into hibernation or whatever happens when it falls off the map? Why would they go after Mary?” 

“Demons do not age, John. There is no reason for one to rush a project. This plan, whatever it is, could have been in motion for centuries and no one on Earth would be the wiser, due to its glacial pace.” Castiel looked up to the stars in the sky.

“But things are happening now,” John said. “What is different? What changed?” 

“One can not be certain, but there may have been a confluence of events that will make it possible to open Lucifer's cage,” Castiel replied. “That is why I wanted to see Bobby Singer and explore his book collection. To see if there is any information that I might have missed. As to your wife? Think back, what happened ten years prior to her death?”

Dean watched as his father studied Castiel for a long time. He honestly couldn't tell what John was thinking. Then his father blinked and turned to him, his eyes narrowed with determination. “You take your friend to Singer's, learn what you can, but then I want you back on the hunt. You understand me?” John demanded. “No more side trips.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied even as his heart sank. There went his last hope that his father might change.

** **

“God damn, stubborn, son of a bitch,” Dean yelled as he and Castiel crossed the state border into South Dakota. He pounded his fist on the dashboard. “He couldn't think passed his need for control just this, fucking, once. Is that so much to ask?” 

“You Winchesters are known for your stubbornness,” Castiel replied. 

Dean shot his angel a furious glare. “At least I know how to take advice.” 

“How long before we reach Bobby's?” Castiel asked, changing the subject. 

Dean allowed it, needing something to distract him from his frustration over his father. “Another hour, as long as we get over the next rail crossing before the freight train comes.” He checked his watch. They might make it over the crossing before the morning train left the local freight yard. An idea occurred to him and a smile crossed his lips for the first time all day.

The train was on time but Dean was able to cross the rail before the signal arms came down with several minutes to spare. He pulled over to the side of the road just after he crossed. “You want to see something wild?” 

“I suppose,” Castiel replied and followed as Dean climbed out of the car. 

Dean opened the trunk and pulled out a couple of beers, handing one to Castiel before closing the trunk and leaning back against it, facing the track. Off in the distance they could hear the horn of the approaching train. He opened his beer and motioned for Castiel to join him. 

“You know this doesn't affect me, not a single beer.”

“I know, Cas.” Dean shrugged. “But having a beer, sometimes it's about enjoying a moment with a friend. Now watch.” As he spoke, the warning lights began to flash, the bell began to ring out, and the guardrails lowered . Some of the people on the road were trying to beat the train, going around the guardrails, but then the traffic stopped and the freight train made its way down the track. 

Castiel took a sip of his beer and leaned back next to him with a slightly perplexed expression. The train had five engines coupled together at the front. The cars being pulled behind them were open bins full of coal. The cars stretched back and back beyond a curve in the tracks. “How long is this train?” he asked, his eyes going wide. 

“About two miles,” Dean said with a grin. “Depends on the time of year, the price of coal, stuff like that. They usually have about a hundred cars.” He leaned forward to look down the track. “This one looks a bit longer.”

Castiel took a long drink from his beer. “The feats of creation that man has accomplished, in some ways, equal those of my father.” 

“I don't know about that,” Dean replied. “Some of your old man's creations are pretty awesome.” He nudged Castiel in the shoulder. When the angel looked up and met his eyes, a blush started to stain his cheeks but he refused to look away. He felt a rush of pleasure when Castiel reached up to cup his face with his right hand. He couldn't help but lean into the touch and his eyes slid closed. 

“Nothing of heaven compares in glory to you,” Castiel said softly. “You are precious to me.” 

The moment was ruined by some asshole in a jacked-up pickup truck hitting their horn and yelling “Get a room!” The looks on both their faces must have been terrifying because the guy's eyes widened in panic and he rolled up his window. Dean decided to let it go, and went to climb back into the car. He spun around at the sound of a loud pop and air escaping from a tire. He saw Castiel make a hand gesture as a slash appeared in another of the pickup's tires. The angel turned to look and Dean and shrugged. 

“We should head to Bobby's,” he said.

Dean shook his head and chuckled. “Never piss off the nerd angels,” he muttered to himself with a swell of affection. 

** **

The Impala pulled into Singer Salvage with a rumbling purr. It was early enough in the summer morning that the business itself wasn't yet opened, but the gates were never locked unless Singer was actually out on a hunt. 

Dean climbed out of the car with a level of nervousness he hadn't felt in a while. The last time he had seen Bobby was when Lucifer had snapped his neck. An act that Dean knew was out of pure spite, as there was no way that Bobby's gun had been anything more than a mild annoyance. 

The gruff bark from a huge black dog was like a vice on his heart. He bent down to greet the huge mutt when he got in range of the chain lead. “Hey, Rumsfeld,” he said. The dog wriggled his whole body in happiness as he got in petting range. Dean wasted no time in giving the old dog his due in scratches and pets. “Good boy.” He looked up at Castiel to find him watching with obvious amusement. “Cas, this is Rumsfeld. Come say, hello.” 

Castiel knelt and held out his hand. Rumfeld sniffed his hand cautiously and then pushed into the angel's hand demanding attention. “He missed you.”

“Damn useless guard dog,” Bobby Singer said gruffly. 

Dean looked up and saw him, looking younger and healthier than he could remember seeing him in a long time. “Hey Bobby.” He stood and walked over to him and pulled him into a hug. Bobby stiffened in surprise for a moment, but hugged back. 

“Don't 'hey' me,” Bobby replied. “Ya idjit. I've been expecting you for a couple days.” 

“Sorry about that.” Dean shrugged. “Got sidetracked.”

“That's fine.” Bobby looked over at Castiel. “So is this your friend that Pastor Jim's been bending my ear about?”

“Hello, Bobby,” Castiel held out his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

Bobby gave him a long look and shook his hand. “So tell me what you two are doing setting the hunting world on fire?” Then went into the house and sat down at the kitchen table. 

“First, I want to say I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch as much as I should have,” Dean said sincerely. 

“Ain’t your fault, your Dad is an ass,” Bobby said waving it away. “I'm glad to see you.” 

Dean cleared his throat. “So we, Cas and I, have reason to believe that something major is coming. We're trying to get as many hunters as we can to start taking more precautions.”

Bobby raise his eyebrows. “Jim mentioned your version of precautions seemed more like end of the world paranoia.”

“Bobby, I know it sounds crazy,” Dean said sincerely. “I mean buckets of crazy, but you have to believe me when I say that things are going to get bad.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair. “I've known you and your family a long time Dean, I've know you to be one of the most level headed hunters out there. Now word is out that you're ringing alarms about a possible Apocalypse without any solid proof, driving around with a guy you call a demonology expert, but no one I know has ever heard of a Castiel Novak.”

“I know it's weird,” Dean said, with a sinking feeling.

Bobby raised his hand to halt him. “I've got no problem with being more careful. I've seen too many hunters die because of a complete lack of caution. What I want to know, is who and what your friend is.”

“What makes you think I am any different than any other human?” Castiel asked.

“Because, no matter how you try to hide it,” Bobby said. “You ain't very good at acting human. So I'll ask again. What are you?”

Dean swallowed and looked over at Castiel. “You won't believe me.” 

“Try me,” Bobby said. “I might be a hunter but I'm not xenophobic. Some creatures out there aren't out to hurt nobody.” 

“It took me a long time to figure that out for myself,” Dean replied. “Dad was always pretty black and white.” He took a deep breath, not really sure how well Bobby would take this. At their first meeting, Castiel had rendered him unconscious with a touch. That had not endeared him to the hunter, but over time they had become if not friends, then comfortable enough. “It's up to you Cas.” 

“Robert Steven Singer,” Castiel began, standing up from his chair. As he did so, the lights in the house began to flash and flicker, even the ones that weren't turned on. “My name is Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord.” An after image of his wings appeared on the walls of the room. 

Bobby scrambled back away from the table, his eyes wide with shock. Dean felt bad about this, but seriously, even the most religious of hunters would have a hard time believing in angels. For Dean it had taken this same display of power to convince him, and even then he'd had some serious reservations. Now, he wasn't used to it, but it wasn't something that freaked him out anymore. To be perfectly honest, he was glad to see the angel show some of his power, because it reminded Dean that his friend was no longer on that slow decline that had begun when Castiel had rebelled and sided with him. 

“Okay, right.” Bobby adjusted his baseball cap, which had gone askew when he had scrambled away from the table. “Did you just blow out every bulb in my house?” 

“Of course not.” Castiel looked affronted. “I certainly would not be destructive for the sake of effect.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, that was more Raphael's gig.” The archangel had blown the entire east coast power grid just to make an impressive entrance. 

“True,” Castiel agreed. 

“Dean, you want to explain to me how you ended up driving cross the country with an angel as your literal copilot?” Bobby said, shocked and worried. 

“I can't tell you,” Dean replied, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, I can't. What I can tell you is that shit is about to hit the fan if we don't stop it now, before it goes too far.” 

“What kind of shit?” Bobby asked, listening intently. 

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy,” Dean said, wanting to prepare his friend. 

“Son, we are past crazy and have fallen down a rabbit hole,” Bobby replied pointing at Castiel. “Just tell me.” 

“We're trying to stop the Apocalypse from happening,” Castiel said. “There are forces from both sides that have been working to start the End Times. This work has been going on for decades, if not centuries.” 

Bobby frowned. “Is he serious?” 

“As a heart attack,” Dean replied. He knew his words were echoing things he had said in the previous time line, but it was like he was compelled to make parallels, even if it was just in his own personal dialogue. The phrase 'literary symmetry' popped into his head and he really wondered if Chuck was still writing the Winchester Gospel, and if so, where the stories began. “And before you ask, yes, my mom's death, the fire was a part of this.” 

“Okay, so what do you need from me?” Bobby asked. 

“Access to your library,” Castiel said. “While I am powerful, I am not omniscient. There are some books that you have that may prove useful.” 

Dean nodded. “Also, we need to get in contact with the Harvelle family, Steve Wandell, and any other hunters that tend to stay in one place. They'll have a target on their backs.”

“You know the Harvelles?” Bobby asked, surprised. 

“I know of them, but we've never actually met.” Dean was not going to be able to deal with these questions. He'd had too many people who had died for this to be in any way an easy conversation. “We need to warn them, we need all of them to ward their properties.”

“You know, Pastor Jim might be able to convince some people to go along, but a lot of people are going to want to know why.” Bobby wasn't the kind of guy to panic when you yelled 'Fire', but he was the type to check around for signs of one once alerted. He would need more if he was going to raise the alarm. The great thing about Bobby was that he could keep a secret. 

Dean took a deep breath and said, “I can't tell you how we know what we know, but I will tell you what is supposed to happen, what the bad guys want to happen.” 

“I'm all ears,” Bobby said. 

“Cas, can you make it so nothing can overhear us?” Dean asked. 

“Of course.” Castiel pulled out a small knife and made a small slice in his finger. He painted a sigil on the table and spoke a few quick words in Enochian. The sigil flared and dissipated leaving no trace on the table's surface. “The house is secure.” 

“Okay, a demon named Azazel has been working since the early 70's, making deals and manipulating people's lives in order to created a generation of humans with psychic abilities that he can use.” 

“There are plenty of psychics already,” Bobby said. “What would be so specially about these?” 

“Their power is derived from being infected with demon blood when they were infants,” Castiel said. “We are aware of several specific people that will have already begun to manifest some sort abilities, but the time frame places the bulk of those affected manifesting their abilities in the next two years.” 

“Sounds like an army,” Bobby said worriedly. 

“You might think so, but this isn't what he wants.” Dean said. “He wants to take the strongest of them and make them open a sealed devil's gate. A gate that can only be opened by one thing. Samuel Colt's magic pistol.” 

“Excuse me?” Bobby was on his feet. “A devil's gate? Where?” 

“Wyoming, but you don't have to worry about that part anymore,” Dean assured him. “Cas and I made sure it'll never open.”

“Well that's something at least.” Bobby stopped suddenly and looked at Dean hard. “The fire that killed your mom, does that mean that Sam is one of these psychic kids?” 

“Yeah, but he isn't a threat,” Dean replied. “Hell most of them are just normal people, but the demon makes their powers come out. He pushes them, makes them used their abilities, manipulates them until they're so turned around that they lash out.”

“So they aren't monsters.” 

“No,” Dean replied adamantly. “But the worst part is that while that is going on, demons are going to start crawling out of the wood work. The best way to keep hunters from stopping the demons is to take them out directly. They'll target stationary hunters first, make it seem like random murders and accidents. Then they'll pick off the loners, possess a few to get in with a group and take them out, and laugh while they are doing it.” 

“Dean,” Castiel called his name. “You're shouting.”

“Crap,” Dean sighed, feeling terrible about the sudden loss of control. “Sorry about that, Bobby.” 

“It's fine,” Bobby said, though his expression said that it wasn't. “What else do they need to start the Apocalypse?”

“A righteous man must willingly shed blood in hell,” Castiel replied. “That breaks the first seal and begins the countdown. There are only a few souls currently alive that would qualify as righteous. We are working to make sure those souls are not coerced into selling their souls for selfless reasons.” 

“That's an... interesting prerequisite,” Bobby replied. “Anything else?” 

“Nothing can happen if the first seal remains intact,” Castiel replied. “And taking out the few demons that do slip out of Hell, as powerful as they may be, cannot end the world on their own.”

“That's a relief,” Bobby said. “Any other terrifying revelations I should know about?”

“Honestly, there are some other things I'd like to tell you about.” Dean rubbed his eye. “But I'm worn out. I could use a place to crash for the night.”

Bobby stared at him. “Does this look like a Super 8?”

“Come on, please.” Dean smiled at him, going for charming.

Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay that was just pathetic. Go on, second door upstairs, you know which one it is.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” 

** ** **

“That don't make a lick of sense,” Bobby complained. “Why would a mystical medieval sword be buried in a graveyard in Wyoming.”

Dean was warmed by his friend's attitude, even with all the weirdness, he was always pragmatic and down to earth. They had spent the morning explaining what they had found in the cemetery. Castiel had been slowly going through the titles of Bobby's books, trying to find the one that he thought he remembered, but he hadn't had any luck yet. It was beginning to look like that he hadn't acquired the volume yet. “We think it has to do with the symbol on the boxes.” He pointed to the Aquarian star. “Have you seen anything like this in relation to an organized group of hunters?” 

“I don't think so...” Bobby headed over to the pile of books that Castiel had yet to go through. He ran his hand down the spines until he pulled out one that was rapped in brown paper and tied with a string. “I picked this up at an estate sale last week.” He unwrapped it and turned the leather bound book over in his hands. “Its a compendium of secret societies written back at the turn of the 19th century.” 

“That's the one,” Castiel said, stepping close. “May I?” 

“Suit yourself.” Bobby shrugged and handed it to him. 

Castiel held it in his hand and flipped through the pages like you might expect The Flash to do in the comic books. A minute later he held the volume open to a specific page. “Here. The Aquarian Star.” He passed the book to Dean.

The book was cool in his hands and it smelled of paper dust. “The Men of Letters. Considered to be the most secret of all societies, not much is known of them. Believed to be an offshoot of the Templar Knights, like the Masons. As of this writing, it is known that the members were in silent opposition to the Inquisition. Several suspected members were burned at the stake for witch craft. Their symbo,l the Aquarian Star, is associated with mysticism and the occult.” Dean looked up at both Bobby and Castiel who were giving him their full attention. 

“The motto of this group, Stamus Contra Malum or We Stand Against Evil seems to point to a purpose different than those of more politically motivated groups such as Skull and Bones. It is suspected that Samuel Colt was a known associate of this group as was Nicola Tesla. Membership is believed to run in families. The only names we have confirmed are the Jenkins family, the Sinclair family, and- holy shit – the Winchester family.” Dean laid the book down on the kitchen table. He couldn't say he was shocked, because of what his father had said, but to have it confirmed, it gave him a thrill in his gut. 

“It seems your father was correct. Henry Winchester was part of a secret group,” Castiel said. “I can't help but wonder if his disappearance was orchestrated to keep John ignorant.” 

“Henry?” Bobby asked.

“My grandfather,” Dean said and explained what his father had told him a few days ago.

“This keeps going deeper into the rabbit hole, Dean,” Bobby said. 

“Tell me about it.” Dean sighed. He looked at the boxes with the Aquarian star carved onto the lids. “The thing that gets me is; if this was some world wide organization, where the hell have the been? They can't all been wiped out.”

“Maybe something kept them from coming back,” Bobby suggested. 

“Or someone.” Castiel looked up at the ceiling. “The forces of heaven or hell could have easily made it impossible for them to return.”

“They all suck, you know that,” Dean replied, frustrated. A group like this, if they had even half of the knowledge that this book suggested could have turned the tide against the apocalypse, maybe saved a lot more lives.

Castiel placed his hands on Dean's shoulder's from behind his seat. The warmth soaked into his skin and he leaned back to look up at the angel's understanding gaze. “Yes, they do.” 

So many things had been done to guarantee that Sam and Dean had almost no support system. To force them into a place both mentally and emotionally where they would think that saying 'yes' to Michael and Lucifer was a good idea. They had almost succeeded too. Dean had been so close to saying yes to Michael. He would have done it, if not for the little broken family that he'd had left pulling together to save him from himself.

Bobby cleared his throat and it occurred to Dean that he and Castiel had been staring at each other again. “You two got something you want to share?” 

Dean looked at him, his brain trying to catch up with what was basically a deeply intimate moment with his angel. He felt aroused, but not in the same way he was when he dealt with women. His attraction to Castiel wasn't merely physical. He didn't want to admit that what he felt was love, but there wasn't any other way to describe it. He was so grateful that they had been sent back together. If he'd had to do this on his own, if the new timeline was one that would have made it impossible for them to know each other, he didn't think he would have been able to do it.

“Dean and I share a profound bond,” Castiel said calmly. 

“If you say so,” Bobby huffed. “Just no profound bonding in the kitchen.”

Dean felt his cheeks go pink and he looked away from the man he considered a better father than John Winchester had ever been.

** ** 

They left a few days later, having taken care to ward Bobby's house and property. They had also helped with the construction of the panic room. It wasn't done yet, but Bobby had assured them that it would most likely be complete before they got back. 

Bobby had called Rufus Turner, whom they knew had contacts in Europe, to see if he could find out if the Men of Letters still existed across the pond. He wasn't holding out much hope on that front, but it was worth a look. Any information on the group would be helpful.

They'd also figured out what the table cloth was. It was actually an amazing Russian artifact called Samobranka. When you laid it down and spoke the right words, it produced enough food for all the people sitting around it. Dean had wanted to leave it with Bobby, but the older man had insisted it might come in handy on the road. 

The drive to California was pleasantly uneventful, other than the side trip to Black Water Ridge in Colorado to kill a wendigo in its lair before it woke up and ate anyone else. There were a few other places, a couple of hunts that Dean knew they would need to take care of sooner rather than later. That woman in white, that fateful hunt that he had dragged Sam on, was something they made time to deal with. Constance Welsh's spirit was freed from her torment as were the spirits of her children before she could do more than cause a few deaths. 

It was a day later that they arrived in Stanford University in Palo Alto, California. Nestled between San Francisco and San Jose it was a nice area, with all the coffee shops, fast food places, and bars that you would expect that cater to the needs of hungry college kids. The last time he had been here, Dean hadn't really been paying attention, so intent had he been on finding his brother, and finding some way to fill the gaping hole of loneliness that had opened in chest when his father had ditched him without a word. 

Not that he was still bitter about that entire series of events, not at all.

It was a Saturday, and the campus was buzzing with hundreds of students milling about the quads, heading for the library or just hanging around enjoying the weather. Dean parked the Impala in one of the on-campus parking lots and looked around feeling a bit lost. Castiel came over to stand next to him, his eyes scanning the area critically. 

“Think you can find him?” Dean asked.

“Of course.” Castiel vanished, then reappeared a few moments later. “Sam is in the Robert Crown Law Library. This way.” He led them down a series of clean, well kept, walk ways to the Law School building. The library had a sign that read “Student ID Required”. 

“That sucks,” Dean sighed. “He could be in there for hours.” 

“Allow me,” Castiel said, and a moment later the sound of a fire alarm went off. The doors to the library and surrounding class rooms opened as students and teachers alike filed out, looking worried and confused. 

“Sneaky.” Dean smiled at his angel. “And there he is.” 

Sam Winchester exited the library a backpack slung over one shoulder. His eyes scanning the area for any sign of fire. As he came closer to where Dean and Castiel were sitting he stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened in surprise. “Dean?” He looked so young, so happy. The hate fueled revenge that had driven him, no where in sight. The pain of the demon blood addiction, the guilt for the terrible acts he had committed in the name of trying to be the hero had not yet tainted him.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean said in greeting. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. 

“Can't a guy come to visit his little brother?” Dean asked. He remembered at one point he had called Sam at least twice a month when he first went to college. Those calls had mostly been answered, at least at first. Then the calls gradually all went to voice mail. 

Dean had become concerned that Sam might have been in trouble. He had driven over a thousand miles in order to make sure his brother hadn't actually been in trouble. At the time, it hadn't occurred to him that Sam was actively avoiding his calls, it was made very clear to him the moment he had arrived, that he was not at all welcome. 

It seemed that history was about to repeat itself. This time however, there were things a lot more important that Sam's need to assert his independence. No amount of angsty bitch-face was going to make Dean turn tail and run away. 

“Not when I'm trying to study,” Sam said. He looked around at the milling students, surprise turning to anger. “Did you set off the fire alarm?” 

“Of course not,” Dean replied with a smirk. He hadn't. 

“Oh my God.” Sam got close enough the he could lower his voice to a harsh whisper. “Did Dad put you up to this? Are you trying to ruin this for me?”

“What?” Dean was taken aback. “Why the hell would you think that?” 

“Because you don't want me here,” Sam said. “If I get expelled I would have to go back to you and Dad. Isn't that what you want?”

“Of course not,” Dean replied, getting pissed at Sam's assumption. “I want you happy. That's all.”

“Perhaps we could have this conversation elsewhere?” Castiel suggested. 

Sam blinked, only now seemingto notice that there was another person involved in their conversation. “And you are?”

“Castiel,” he said. “I am Dean's friend.” 

That made Sam blink. Castiel was in his usual clothes with the tan coat, which was a little warm for the current weather. “You're a friend of Dean's?” 

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. “I apologize for the false alarm, but I felt it would be better to expedite your leaving the library.” 

“Expedite?” Sam looked Castiel up and down. “Who are you again?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas is my friend. We've been taking care of a few jobs.”

“You're a hunter?” Sam was incredulous. 

“Is that so hard to believe?” Castiel asked. 

“Yes,” Sam replied, crossing his arm.

“Was he always this rude in his youth, Dean?” Castiel asked, offended. 

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “Whined like a five year old when ever he didn't get his way, too.” 

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, his cheeks flushing. 

“How about we have a talk over lunch.” Dean said, he needed to head off this before it got ugly. 

“Fine,” Sam replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I know a good place to eat.” 

“Great! Lead the way,” Dean replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. 

** ** 

Dean was expecting some healthy vegan bistro that served bean sprouts with a side order of guilt. To his surprise, Sam took them to a small pub that served some of the best pastrami on the West Coast. It was called The Refuge and it was gastronomic heaven.

“You surprise me, Sammy.” Dean said after taking a huge bite of his Reuben. “I expected more tofu and less beer.” 

“Yeah, well, they have good food.” Sam shrugged like it wasn't any big deal. “So what brings you out here?”

Dean put down his sandwich, all playfulness melted away. “Some crap is coming. Big time dark and scary shit. I need you to start taking precautions.” 

“Precautions?” Sam sighed. “Dean, I'm at college. I checked my dorm when I first got here. There is nothing dangerous here.”

“I'm not talking about some random spirit or a werewolf. I'm talking about seriously nasty demonic shit,” Dean said, lowering his voice. 

“Demonic?” Sam sat up. “How, where?” 

“It's coming.” Dean had decided not to mince words. Half of Sam's rebellion against their father had been abut the secrets he had kept.. “And it's going to be coming for you.” 

“Me?” Sam echoed stupidly. “Why would it come for me?” 

“Because of what happened when you were a baby,” Dean said. “Mom wasn't the intended target.”

“How do you know?” Sam demanded, his eyes sharp with interest.

“A demon talked.” It wasn't a lie. Azazel had told Sam the whole thing in the previous time line. “You weren't the only one. There were only a few cases of fires. Those deaths happened because it was walked in on. The bulk of the affected babies' families never even knew something happened.”

“You're talking like something did happen.” Sam looked from Dean to Castiel. “You're saying that demon did something to them, to me. What did it do?” 

“You have been infected with demon blood.” Castiel said without inflection.

Sam gripped the side of the table. “What?!” he shouted. He looked around quickly, then ducked his head and whispered harshly. “How is that even possible?” 

“The demon bled into your mouth as a baby,” Castiel replied, calmly. “There was nothing that could have prevented it. Your mother's death was tragic, but she was not the intended target. She interrupted the demon and for that she had to die.” 

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Sam said, looking pale. 

“Come on, let's go for a walk,” Dean suggested. He wrapped up the rest of his and Cas's sandwiches for later. 

They walked to a nearby park. There were a lot of people around, but it was easy to find a nice quiet spot to talk some more. 

“Does Dad know?” Sam demanded. 

“Honestly, I think Dad knows more than he's said, but I don't think he has the entire picture yet,” Dean said. “Which is why I wanted to talk to you. You need to know what is going on and take steps to protect yourself and your friends.” 

“Why would it go after my friends?” Sam said. “They aren't a part of this.” 

“Maybe,” Dean replied. “Maybe not, but this demon isn't working alone. I know part of the reason that Dad kept dragging us across the country had less to do with the need to hunt and more to keep a few steps ahead of what he suspected was something tracking us.” 

“There was never any proof that of that,” Sam said. 

“No, there wasn't,” Dean replied. “But please, let me and Cas set up some wards around your dorm.” 

“I'm not in the dorm anymore. A friend of mine got an off campus apartment, we're sharing rent,” Sam replied.

“Great,” Dean enthused. “That'll make it easier. Lead the way.” 

“Now?” Sam asked.

“Yes, now,” Dean said. “No time like the present.” 

“Fine,” Sam growled. “Follow me.” 

The apartment was in the same complex that Sam had lived in the first time around, but it was on a different floor and it was a lot bigger. Two separate bedrooms and a huge living room as well as a kitchen big enough to feed a large family. 

“Who the hell is paying for this, a Rockefeller?” Dean asked. 

“My roommate's family has a lot of money.” Sam shrugged. “He wasn't comfortable in the dorms, so he asked if I wanted to go partway with the rent. I wasn't going to turn down that offer.” 

“Cas,” Dean turned to his angel, who had been quiet for the trip there. “Let's make this place demon proof.”

“With pleasure.” 

The next hour was a whirlwind of drawing sigils and marking doorways. Sam was pretty comical with his protests. Those protests died out when Dean joined in, painting devil's traps to the underside of not only the welcome mat, but the area rug as well. “Are you doing that free hand?” he asked at one point. “Oh my God! Are you using blood?” Sam exclaimed when Castiel sliced open his own palm to add more power to some wards. “My roommate's going to be back any time now.” 

“Relax,” Dean said as he kept Sam from trying to clean away the blood warding on the walls. “Just watch.” 

Castiel raise his hands and spoke several one syllable words and the wards on the walls glowed and vanished from human sight. “Your dwelling is now protected.” 

“What kind of magic was that?” Sam demanded. “That wasn't like anything I've ever seen.” 

“Amazing what you miss when you go off to college,” Dean said in a teasing tone. “Seriously, you'll thank us later.” 

There was a noise outside the door to the apartment, keys were slid into the lock and the door opened. A young, golden blonde haired twenty-something came through the door, with a bag of takeout in his hands. He shut the door and stepped over the welcome mat and slammed into an invisible wall. The food he had been carrying fell from his shocked grip.

“What the fuck!” 

“Ty?” Sam stared in shocked horror as his roommate was unable to leave the devil's trap. 

“Well, well, well,” Dean said with a sly smirk. “Isn't this a surprise. Tyson Brady isn't it?” 

“Sam?” Tyson said, his voice high with surprise and fear. “What's going on?” 

“Cut the crap, Brady,” Dean growled, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the demon killing knife. “We know what you are.” 

“Guess there's no reason to keep up the charade,” Tyson said, his eyes going black.

Sam scrambled backward in fearful shock. “No, no, no. Ty!”

“Don't worry, Sam,” Dean said. “We'll take care of this.” 

“Take care of it?” Sam exclaimed. “He's possessed! You're not an exorcist. We need to call Dad or Pastor Jim.”

“Actually, I've gotten pretty good at it over time. Compared to some of the demons I've faced, this guy is a rank amateur.” Dean said. He turned to the demon. “So, how long have you been in that kid?” 

“Who are you calling an amateur, boy?” Brady sneered, his young face twisted into a parody of his normally handsome face. “You think you can hold me? I'm centuries old.” 

“It that all?” Castiel said, he had been standing quietly. It seemed the wards the angel had placed on himself were more that adequate to keep his true nature hidden. “You're little more than a fledgling.” 

The demon turned and looked at him in confused surprise. “Where did you come from? You... I can't even sense you.” 

“Would you like to know what I am, little demon?” Castiel taunted, his head tilted to one side. “Before I destroy you.” 

Castiel must have lowered the wards around himself or something similar, because Brady started screaming. 

“No! You can't be here. It's not possible.”

“Did your master tell you we had abandoned humanity?” Castiel asked. “He was mistaken. Fortunately, you will not be able to inform him of his folly.” 

“Can we kill him without hurting the kid?” Dean asked quietly. “I don't want him running home to daddy.”

“Most of my brothers don't care if the host is alive or not, and simply burn the demon out of the body,” Castiel admitted. “However, we can take the time to set this young man free.” 

“Wait!” Sam pushed his way in front of them to face the demon. “Why? Why Brady?”

“Oh, Sammy,” Brady smiled. “Because you're special. The boss has such plans for you.” 

“What sort of plans?” Sam demanded, obviously furious.

“Let me out of this trap and I'll tell you all about it,” Brady said. 

“Not a chance, buddy,” Dean replied. “All you're getting is a one way ticket to oblivion.” 

“Wait, Dean.” Sam turned to him. “He could tell us what is going on.” 

There was a time when his brother's pleading eyes might have moved him to consider doing just that, but there was no need. He and Castiel knew exactly what a was going on. 

“Sorry Sam,” Dean said, trying not to be affected by the look of hurt that crossed Sam's face. “But we don't need him to tell us anything.” He looked right into the demon's black eyes. “We know exactly what their plans are, and letting Lucifer out of the Cage? Starting the Apocalypse? Not happening.” He turned to Castiel. “Do it, Cas.” 

Castiel stepped forward with a nod. He entered the devils trap and placed his open palm on Brady's forehead. The demon started screaming and a soft glow began to pulse inside the possessed man's body. After a full minute, the screaming ended and Tyson Brady fell backward as the effects of the devil's trap no longer affected his body. Dean was there to catch him and he picked the smaller man up and placed him on the couch.

When Dean turned to see if his brother was okay, he saw that Sam had pulled out an iron knife. “Who are you?” Sam demanded. 

“I'm your brother, Sammy,” Dean said, something in his chest constricted at his reaction.

“Bullshit,” Sam replied. “My brother is a hunter, but he doesn't know any of the stuff you just did. I'm the one that had the Rituale Romanum memorized before I was fifteen.” 

“You think your brother is some sort of monster,” Castiel asked. “Simply because he showed intelligence and knowledge of something other than classic rock and roll and fixing cars?”

“No!” Sam denied. “But that isn't anything I've ever seen. Dad never taught us those kinds of wards.”

“Yeah, well, Dad doesn't know everything,” Dean replied. He pulled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve. “Give me your knife.” 

“What?” Sam took another step back. “Why?” 

“Obviously you need proof that I'm me.” Dean said and held out his hand. Reluctantly Sam handed over his knife. “I got you this iron knife after your sixteenth birthday. I had a Roman Catholic priest bless it for you.” He ran the blade across his forearm until it drew blood. 

Sam's entire posture collapsed with relief. “I'm sorry.” 

“Don't be,” Dean replied as he pressed a towel to the wound. “Not the first time I've had to do that.” 

“But it's barely been a year,” Sam said. “What happened?” 

“Well, no offense, but I've had a lot more free time not having to keep an eye on you,” Dean replied, he winced internally, because he knew that was harsh. “So I've been studying. Cas here has been teaching me.” 

“What is he then?” Sam demanded. “Because you can't tell me that he's human.” 

“Nope,” Dean smiled. “Not going to deny that. But, like I said before, Cas is my friend.”

“Since when are you all, 'Be kind to monsters'?” Sam asked, he glanced at Castiel and visibly winced. “No offense.”

“Offense taken. Cas isn't a monster,” Dean replied before Castiel could. “And I find that pretty hypocritical of you, considering how many times you preached live and let live in the past.” 

“I'm sorry,” Sam sighed. “I'm a little freaked out that my best friend here turned out to be possessed.” 

“He hasn't been possessed for long, his body had not been injured,” Castiel replied.

“He came back from visiting his family a couple weeks ago,” Sam said. “He was all messed up, ditching classes and drinking.”

“And this wasn't a clue that something was seriously wrong?” Dean asked.

“I knew there was something wrong,” Sam replied. “But I thought it was just family stuff.”

“Did you even bother to check?” Dean asked. 

“Why would I have checked?” Sam asked. 

“Because you're a hunter and you know this stuff,” Dean replied, angry. “I get that you wanted normal. I get that you've always hated this life. But you deliberately ignored the warning signs and he's been suffering, possessed, trapped in his own body for weeks.” 

“I didn't know,” Sam replied, his faced closed off. The guilt was obviously eating at him. “This was supposed to be my chance to get away from all this.

“We might want to make sure no one else takes him for a meat suit,” Dean suggested looking at the unconscious man on the couch. 

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “He was far too easy a target.” He walked over and placed his hand on Brady's chest. Even unconscious he twitched in pain. 

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded. He tried to push past Dean, but he easily held him back.

“Relax,” Dean said. “We're protecting him. And whether you like it or not, you need it too.” 

“I need what?” Sam asked. 

Suddenly Castiel was right next to him. Sam reeled back and tried to block as Castiel reached for him. Dean winced in sympathy as he watched his brother get the same protective marks he wore. “Sorry, Sammy, but the odds of possession are just too high.” 

Sam pulled off his shirt and stared down at the tattoo. “What the hell, Dean?” 

“You'll thank me later,” Dean replied. “Right now, you might want to take care of your friend.” Dean pointed to Tyson, who was starting to wake up.

“Ty,” Sam knelt down next to his friends. “I'm so sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” Tyson whispered. “It let me watch most of the time. It was horrible, what it did. Cut me off from my family. Taking drugs, letting me feel it. All the while it kept telling me how you were this 'chosen one'. How you were going to help them take over the world.” 

“I would never...” Sam began. 

“I know you wouldn't,” Tyson replied. “But it was so sure. It was honored to be chosen to watch over you until it was time.” 

“Time for what?” Sam asked. 

“I don't know,” Tyson said. He looked over at Dean and Castiel. “Thank you.” Tears started to run down his cheeks. 

“How often did it report in?” Castiel asked. 

“It didn't...” Tyson swallowed hard. “It didn't have to. It had orders to wait until Sam was old enough, then force him back into hunting.” 

“How would it do that?” Sam asked. 

“He was recreate the circumstances of your mother's death. Using whoever you happened to be closest to at the time,” Tyson replied. “I tried to say something, so many times.” 

“Oh my God.” Sam covered his face with his hands. 

“Here,” Dean grabbed a piece of paper from the coffee table. “This is the number for Pastor Jim Murphy. He's a hunter, but he's also a counselor for people touched by all this crap. Tell him Dean Winchester says hello.” 

“Dean,” Castiel said, called. “We should get going.” 

“Going?” Sam stood. “You just got here.” 

“I know, and truth be told, I don't like the idea of leaving you here.” Dean admitted. “But this room is secure and they can't possess you and they won't come for you yet.” He pulled out a brand new phone and handed it to his brother. “This has everyone's contact numbers. I have a new phone number, it's in here under Pookeepsie. Dial that one if the shit hits the fan.”

“You expect me to just stay here after this?” Sam demanded.

“The one advantage we have right now,” Dean began coming to stand right in front of his brother. “Is that they don't know that we know what is going on. If you leave now, they'll know that something is up.”

“But I can help,” Sam said.

“Sam, listen to me,” Dean said. “We have got one chance to do this right. I can't have you going off half cocked and thirsty for revenge. Not like Dad. Please. Just stay here. Stay in school. Have that apple pie life you always wanted.”

“Dean... You don't have to do this on your own,” Sam said insistently.

Dean turned to Castiel, who was standing quietly, watching them. “I'm not alone, this time.”

“You promise you'll let me know if you need me,” Sam demanded. 

“I swear.” Dean pulled Sam into a hug. He pulled back and gave his brother a gentle slap on the cheek. “I'll call you soon.” 

** ** **

 

It was an odd sensation, leaving Sam at Stanford. A part of Dean wanted his brother sitting beside him, to give him that feeling of home and family, but he remembered the darkness that had infected his brother. The anger that poisoned him over time and drove him to commit acts that Dean didn't want to think about. While he would like to have blamed the demon blood or even Ruby for all of Sam's actions, he really couldn't. Sam had made his choices, the good ones and the bad, all on his own. 

Dean knew that he himself was no saint. There were times when he had reveled in the kill. He hated to admit it, but when Cassie had rejected him, he had taken his hurt and anger out on every female monster that crossed his path. When his father had died, he had thrown himself into hunting with little regard for his own safety. No matter how many times Castiel tried to assure him that what he had done in Hell no longer tainted him, he remembered. A part of him had enjoyed what he had done in Hell, torturing souls, making them suffer. No one and nothing would ever be able to absolve him of that.

The best he could do was do as much good as he possibly could before his own time came. Maybe the scales would balance out. He figured he was doing a pretty good job so far. Sam was at school, he was protected now, better than he had ever been the first time around. Maybe one of them really could have a normal life. 

He wasn't sure if he could survive a normal life. The fake Dean Smith persona that Zachariah had created was the closest he'd ever come to understanding what a normal life might be like and he couldn't stand it. The dream world that the Djinn had made for him was more like what he might have expected for himself, but even that was just wrong. Sure he could have been a mechanic, work on classic cars for a living maybe find some nice woman to settle down with, maybe someone like Lisa Braeden. He wasn't that person anymore. 

If he were completely honest about it, he didn't want normal. He was a hunter, he always would be. Maybe some day, if this worked, he could go into semi retirement like Rufus and Bobby had, but he would never leave this life. The thing was though, he was pretty sure this time he wouldn't be alone. 

Castiel was such an unexpected and frustrating addition to his life. The angel, at first, hadn't known the first thing about living as a human or even how to interact with anyone that didn't know what he was already. Watching him pretend to be human was possibly some of the most painfully funny things Dean had ever witnessed in those first few weeks. 

He was much better at it now, nearly six months into their travels. Dean had encouraged him to purchase things that he liked. While he still owned the ensemble that Jimmy Novak wore the day he had taken him as a vessel, he didn't wear it often. More often than not he now wore a look similar to Dean's; sturdy jeans and long sleeve Henley shirts replaced the business suit. A rain proof black duster replaced the tan coat, though he never actually felt the cold. 

Winter was well and truly in season as they drove back into Nebraska. They still hadn't made it to the Road House, even after putting a personal visit as a top priority just under any hunts Dean had taken care of before. It should have been a cake walk, dealing with hunts where he knew the victims and the monsters, and for the most part it was. 

Then a nest of Chupacabra started eating their way through a series of poultry farms had taken several weeks to root out. The hairless little fuckers were pretty harmless in ones and twos, but if they went into a mating frenzy they acted like locusts, eating their way through all the available warm blooded animals they could find, including humans. They were animals for the most part, acted a lot like raccoons. Scary smart with problem solving skills that put most other animals to shame. They lived exclusively on blood, and could drain an animal the size of a chicken dry in minutes 

The best way to take them out was by beheading, but you had to have a very strong, sharp blade, because the hide of a Chupacabra was made of extremely tough scales. Otherwise it would regenerate even a lost limb within an hour. 

It was the first time Dean pulled out Durandal. The sword was so sharp it sliced through the creatures like a hot knife through butter. Castiel simply used a machete; his inhuman strength making it possible to penetrate the tough hide. 

There had been so many that local ranchers and law enforcement had ended up helping. They kept the swarming mass of creatures from escaping by forming a perimeter and shooting anything that tried to get away. By the time they were done, Dean was exhausted and they had honestly lost count of how many of the things they had killed. On the bright side, they had an open invitation from the locals to next years Founders Day to celebrate the saving of the town.

**

The Roadhouse, when they finally got there, was the same rustic, out of the way bar that he remembered. It catered to the rough and rugged hunter crowd. Sure there was the occasional mundane traveler that would stumble on the place, but those were few and far between. 

Dean pulled into a open parking spot and stared at the intact structure. The last time he had been here it had been burned out shell, Sam had been kidnapped by Azazel, and Ash along with a dozen other hunters had been dead. He climbed out and motioned for Cas to follow him. His feet crunched on the fresh snow fall.

Dean went in first, he paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. He recognized almost everyone there. Some of them he knew from hunting with his father, like Travis, whose rugaru obsession was going to get him killed and Caleb, who Meg had killed, just to prove a point. Then there were others that he had met after John had died. Like Isaac and Tamara, the husband and wife team that weren't nearly as prepared to fight multiple demons as they thought they were and Gordon, whoss personal demons eventually made him into a murderer. 

He walked up to the bar and sat down, Cas right beside him. Ellen came over with a professional smile. “What can I get you boys?” 

“Two beers please,” Dean replied. “Whatever is on tap.” 

“You got it.” She went about pouring out two perfect glasses. 

“Hey, aren't you a Winchester?” Travis said from his seat across the bar.

Dean lifted a brow and looked over. “I just might be.”

“Son of a bitch. Dean.” Travis came over with a bright smile. “How have you been?” 

“Not too bad, Travis,” Dean replied. He allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. “Yourself?”

“Can't complain,” he replied as he pulled back. Travis looked around expectantly. “Where are John and Sam?”

Dean was aware that all the other hunters were watching them now. Winchester was a notorious name in the hunting community even before the apocalypse happened. John was a ruthless hunter and it wasn't a secret to anyone that he had taken out more than one hunter that had turned out to be a threat to his family.

“Sam's at college,” Dean replied. “Dad is off doing his own thing.” 

“You're hunting solo now?” Travis asked, concerned. 

Dean smiled and shook his head. “Nah, I got a partner. Cas here knows how to pull his own weight.” He pointed at Castiel, who tipped his beer at the older hunter. He watched as Travis gave the angel an assessing look, it seemed that a change of wardrobe was all that was needed to evade suspicion.

“You're one of John's boys?” Ellen asked coming back to stand across the bar. 

“Yes, ma'am,” Dean replied with a polite nod.

“Welcome to the Roadhouse,” she said with a smile. “I knew your father when you were just a little thing.” 

“So, I recently learned,” Dean replied. “I'm sorry I don't remember you from when I was a kid.” 

“It's okay,” Ellen sighed. “John and I didn't part on anything like what you could call friendly terms.” 

“He has that affect on people,” Castiel said with all seriousness. 

Ellen barked out a laugh. “That he does. Cas, nice to meet you. I'm Ellen.”

“A pleasure,” Castiel replied.

“So, what brings you here?” Ellen asked. 

“We wanted to see if you had a chance to put up the wards that Bobby Singer told you about a couple months ago,” Dean said. 

“How did you know about that?” Ellen asked. 

“I was there when he called you,” Dean replied. 

“I got some of it up, but that's an awful lot of protecting for one little bar,” Ellen admitted. 

“I know, but this is a public place, anyone or anything could walk in,” Dean said. 

“Why would they?” Ellen asked. “This is a hunters bar, they would be committing suicide.” 

“It's also a giant target,” Castiel said. “What better way to eliminate a dozen hunters at once than to trap them in one of the few places they consider a safe haven. The wards Bobby Singer sent you are meant not just to keep things out, but to protect the property from the type of abilities that a simple devil's trap can't stop.”

“Exactly what are you expecting to attack here?” Gordon Walker asked. 

Dean was annoyed at his eavesdropping, but it was consistent with how the man operated. “Demons, vampires, witches, djinn, efreet. I could go on.”

Gordon snorted. “What do you know about vamps?” 

“I know what you know.” Dean shrugged. “They feed on the blood of the living, decapitation is the best way to kill them, they mate for life, and they can track a single human anywhere once they get their scent.” 

Gordon looked impressed despite himself. “Most hunters out there think they're extinct.” 

“Well, I'm not most hunters,” Dean replied. “Neither is Cas.” 

“Heard tell you were running with some bookworm,” Gordon said dismissively. “Can't say I understand it. Unless you're getting some side benefits.” 

Dean ignored the innuendo and turned to the other hunters in the room. “It's Chupacabra mating season if anyone is interested.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Ash said from behind the bar. “You owe me fifty bucks, Travis.”

“Bullshit,” Travis replied. “How do you know?” 

“Took care of a nest of them,” Dean replied. “I've even got the photographic evidence to prove it.” He pulled out his new phone. It wasn't as good as the one he'd had in the future, but it was a higher quality than the crappy flip-phone he'd had before. 

Ash leaned over the bar to look at the screen. “Damn, Winchester. You're crazy letting those things get so close.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “I didn't exactly have a choice.” 

“So you thought you'd stop and take some pictures?” Travis asked, getting a good look himself. 

“I figured no one would believe me.” Dean shrugged. 

“We also took some video,” Castiel said. He pulled out a small hand-held camera. “It was fascinating to witness their feeding habits.” 

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Ellen stared in horror at the tiny screen as the swarm of creatures attacked the poultry in a large enclosure. “What are you planning to do with that?” 

“I was thinking of holding a class for hunters called, 'So you think it's an easy hunt',” Dean replied. 

“Like anyone is going to listen to someone barely out of high school,” Gordon said with a snort. 

“Right, because you're so much more experienced than I am.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You've got what, five years on me? I've been hunting since I was old enough to hold a rifle.” 

“So you say,” Gordon replied. 

“You got a problem?” Dean asked. 

“I'm just wondering why everyone seems to be listening to the advice of a hunter that is barely old enough to shave,” Gordon said with a kind of swagger that Dean had once admired. 

“Seems to me that a hunter that specializes in only one species needs to broaden their horizons,” Dean replied. 

Gordon glared at him, but didn't reply. Instead he ordered himself another beer and headed back to his table to drink alone.

“Better watch yourself with him,” Ellen said. “He's good, but he doesn't play well with others.” 

“I'll keep that in mind,” Dean replied. 

“I'm serious,” Ellen said, quietly. “Hunters have a habit of getting hurt when they work with him.” 

Dean dropped any pretense of boyishness. “I know how dangerous he is.” 

Ellen met his gaze, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. 

Dean is about to say something else when the main door crashed open. Everyone turned to see a man covered in blood stagger inside. Dean thought he recognized the man but he name eluded him. 

“Kubrik?” Travis said, rushing to the man's aid. “What the hell happened?”

Now he remembered; Ezekiel Kubrik was an extremely religious hunter that had been recruited by GordonWalker to hunt down and kill Sam. He had been killed by the vampire that Gordon would become.

Gordon was there as well grabbing Kubrik to keep him from falling. Dean stood back and watched with a strange sense of disconnect as three men that had died because they had aligned themselves against the Winchester clan, stood together. One wounded and bloody, but otherwise alive. He couldn't help but hope that this time, there wouldn't be a conflict. 

“Ellen,” Travis called.

“Ash, grab the first aid kit,” Ellen ordered. 

It was a few minutes of everyone rushing around checking the hunter for more injuries. He wasn't so bad, by hunter standards, but a normal person probably would have gone to a hospital.

“So what happened?” Dean asked. 

“I don't know what it was,” Kubrik said as he drank down a shot of whiskey. “Thought it might have been a trickster god maybe even some kind of gremlin, messing with a manufacturing plant. I got hired to clean the place out for the owner.” 

“Tricksters aren't anything to mess with,” Travis said. “Did it come after you?” 

“No, but it was targeting the owner. I got it with a stake, but I was lucky to get away.”

“What happened?” Gordon asked.

“Turns out the guy that hired me was trying to cover up millions of dollars worth of environmental damage from the chemicals they used seeping into the local water supply,” he replied. “I found out about it, and he tired to have me killed.” He shook his head. “Serves me right taking a paying job.” 

“What did he look like?” Dean asked.

“Who?” Kubrik asked. 

“The trickster, what did he look like?” 

“Average height, brown hair. What does it matter?” Kubrik said. “It's long gone. I wish I had left it alone.”

“It could be important,” Dean replied. His eyes sought Castiel, who nodded. 

If there was a chance that the trickster was who they thought, they just might have a chance to change more than they originally thought.

** ** 

The barn was covered in fake, poorly drawn, and deliberately misshapen sigils in a parody of the first time that Dean had tried to summon Castiel. The real trap was a hidden ring of holy oil on the floor. 

“Are you sure this deception is necessary?” Castiel asked as he looked around. “It seems a great deal of work.”

“As far as he knows, we're just summoning a trickster god,” Dean said. “Specifically, Loki.”

“I could just call to him,” Castiel offered.

“How many times did you and your family call to him with no answer?” Dean asked.

“We called for centuries,” Castiel admitted. “We all assumed he had perished.” 

“Exactly, he didn't want to be found. Odds are pretty good that he isn't just going to show up because you asked nicely.” 

“And a summons of a pagan god is less likely to be noticed by my brothers and sisters,” Castiel agreed. 

“Alright then,” Dean picked up a match and held it over the plate of summoning herbs. “Let's see who comes knocking.” He dropped the match and uncovered the plate of offerings. Mainly candy and other sweets. 

The barn began to shake and rattle, the tiny altar with it's offerings began to glow. The sealed barn doors crashed open and the figure of a man appeared, illuminated by the glowing offerings. “Who dares summon Loki?” 

“One that would call upon the God of Lies for a boon,” Castiel replied.

“Really?” The light faded and showed Gabriel as both Dean and Castiel knew him. “You must be seriously desperate if you're calling on me.” 

“You could say that,” Dean said. 

“We have much to be desperate about,” Castiel said. “The fate of the planet is at stake.” 

Gabriel turned to face him and narrowed his eyes. “I'm not exactly the world saving type.” 

“We know,” Dean replied, watching him. “But we figured at the very least our offering would be enough to get you to listen.” 

The archangel took a step further into the barn and into the hidden circle of holy oil. “Not much of an offering.”

“Yes, but it's hard to find something good enough for a Norse god,” Dean said. He struck a match and tossed it into the oil. “Even harder to find an offering for an archangel.” The oil caught and a ring of fire formed around the angel.

“What?” Gabriel stood in shock. 

“Forgive us, brother,” Castiel said. “We needed to talk to you.” 

Gabriel stared. “Who are you? I can't tell through all your warding.” 

“I am Castiel,” he said.

“Castiel?” Gabriel looked at him carefully. “Aren't you supposed to be with the garrison?”

“I am no longer with the host,” he said. “I had to come to earth to assist my charge.”

“Your charge.” Gabriel looked over at Dean. “You do know who he is, don't you?”

“Dean is the Righteous Man,” Castiel replied with a nod.

“He's a hell of a lot more than that.” Gabriel spun in a circle. 

“Yes.” Castiel smiled. “He is the best and worst of humanity. Noble, yet full of vices. He tries to be a good person and that is all you can ask. ” 

Dean squirmed at that. 

“Wow,” Gabriel shook his head. “You've got it bad, little bro. That is just sad.” 

“Hey,” Dean cut in. “You gonna listen to what we have to say or are you just going to act like a dick?” 

“I doubt you have anything to say that I want to hear.” Gabriel looked bored.

“Probably not, but we're not letting you out until we talk,” Dean replied. 

“So talk.” Gabriel looked disinterested.

“We know what heaven and hell are planning,” Dean said. “We want your help in stopping them.”

“Stop it?” Gabriel laughed. “There is no stopping it. It's a prophecy.”

“No, it's not,” Castiel replied. “Not anymore.” 

“Uh, yeah it is,” Gabriel replied. “As I recall, dear old Dad had quite a bit to say about it.” 

“He changed his mind,” Dean said.

“Who?” Gabriel demanded.

“God.” Dean leaned against the wall of the barn. 

“Not possible,” Gabriel retorted. “I begged him, I pleaded for him to reconsider when he had his scribe write down the Apocalypse, but no, he wouldn't listen.” Gabriel looked like he wanted to start pacing, bu the ring of fire kept him in place. “Michael and Lucifer were to have their battle at the end of days.” 

“Neither of them was willing to see reason.” Castiel nodded. “So father commanded that they be allowed to have their battle should Lucifer's followers manage to free him.” 

“It's been a long time,” Gabriel replied. “Why would Dad change his mind now?”

“Because, believe it or not, God actually believes that free will is more important than a million year old grudge match,” Dean said. They had discussed telling the archangel the full story. They had figured that at best, it might sway Gabriel to their side, at worst, he wouldn't believe them and would try to smite them for the whole entrapment thing. “We're from the future, Cas and me. Where the seals were broken, but we managed to stop the fight between the Princes of Douchebaggery.” 

“God has allowed us this chance to change fate and allow free will to reign,” Castiel replied. 

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “I don't believe you.” 

“Then how did we even know you were hiding with the pagans?” Dean asked. “We met in the future. You tried to stop things from spiraling out of control, but it wasn't enough. Lucifer killed you when you tried to protect Kali from him.” 

Gabriel's eyes widened. “Lucifer went after the pagans? Why?” 

“They wanted to stop what was happening,” Dean replied. “They thought they could use me and Sam as bargaining chips, but they just got slaughtered.” 

Gabriel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Fucking idiots.” 

“Maybe,” Dean sighed. “Don't get me wrong, I'd have been happy to gank any one of them for taking unwilling humans for their dining pleasure. They at least were ready to stand and fight, even if they didn't stand a chance.” 

“So you want me to throw in with you?” Gabriel snorted. “News flash: I don't actually want to die.” 

“While I can't promise you won't get killed fighting with us,” Castiel replied. “I can assure you that remaining neutral is not an option.” He raised his hand and with a gesture lowered the flames of the ring of fire until it was completely snuffed out. 

Confused, Gabriel looked around the room. “That's it? Just a sales pitch and now you're letting me go?” 

“We're not going to screw you over, Gabriel,” Dean said. “Heaven and Hell have a monopoly on that kind of shit.”

Gabriel grimaced and acknowledged the truth of that with a nod. “So what exactly do you want from me?” 

“If you decide to help, we need one thing,” Dean said. “We need to find Azazel and we need to end him, before he starts his psychic kid death matches.”

“That's a tall order,” Gabriel replied. “Azazel is one of the original Fallen.”

Dean turned to Castiel for an explanation. “The Fallen are the angels that sided with Lucifer. While the Morning Star was protected from much of Hell's corrupting influence and retains much of his angelic grace, the rest of the angels that were cast out of Heaven became the greater demons, powerful in ways that simple human souls are not capable of becoming.”

“Only the Knights of Hell were equal in power to them,” Gabriel continued. “We, the archangels, had the task of killing those bastards off. Though I don't think we got them all, they haven't been heard from in centuries.” 

Dean didn't want to think about a how powerful a demon had to be to become a knight. Because he knew from experience how strong the greater demons like Azazel and Alistair were. “So that was how Alistair almost banished you from your vessel, Cas?” 

“Yes.” Castiel nodded. “While they can not kill us, because they do not possess angelic blades, they were able to use their knowledge of angelic lore to rip us from our vessels. It is an excruciatingly painful experience for both angel and vessel.”

“Castiel,” Gabriel said. “I can't promise that I'll help, but I promise I'll keep my ears out for any information on Azazel.” 

“Thank you, brother,” Castiel replied with a small smile. 

“And if you have any questions on how to woo your human, give me a call. I've got centuries of experience in that area.” Gabriel snapped his fingers and suddenly there was a heart shaped bed in the middle of the barn covered in black satin sheets. Dean found himself displayed across the bed in nothing but a red silk thong and there was a rose between his teeth. “Have fun, kids.” He laughed and vanished from sight.

“Gabriel!” Dean shouted after he managed to spit the rose out of his mouth. He tried to climb off the bed, only to find there was a barrier of some sort keeping him there. “Fucking archangels!” He grabbed one of the sheets and rapped it around his waist. “Cas, can you get me out of here?” 

Castiel stepped up to the bed and tried to pull Dean out of it, but was hampered by the barrier. He paused for a moment and rolled his eyes heavenward. “It won't let you out until we've kissed.” 

Dean froze. “How do you know?” 

“Gabriel just told me.” The angel sighed. “He thinks we need encouragement to 'get on with it'.” He made little air quotes at the last part. “I will not do something coerced.”

Dean stopped trying to get off the bed and sat down cross-legged. “But you wouldn't object to kissing me?” 

“You know I wouldn't, but the question is, would you?” Castiel's expression softened. “You know my feelings for you go far beyond loyalty and friendship.”

“I know,” Dean replied in a whisper. “I feel the same. I really wouldn't object.” His heart was beating hard in his chest. He had just admitted something he hadn't planned on exploring until this mess was settled. He wasn't sure he was ready for it.

“Will you let me kiss you?” Castiel asked. 

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. They were so far into each other's personal space, he could feel Cas's breath on his bare skin. If they were going to do this, he wasn't going to be a passive partner. He looked into Castiel's eyes just before his own slid shut. The moment their lips met, he knew they would be the only lips he would ever willingly kiss for the rest of his life. 

He wrapped his arms around the angel's waist and pulled their bodies together. He gasped into the kiss and held on for dear life as he was physically lifted from the bed. He found himself on his feet and away from the bed, but he was reluctant to end the kiss. “Wow,” Dean said finally. 

“My sentiments, exactly,” Castiel replied and kissed him again. “Shall we take this to a place of our choosing?” 

“Lead the way, Cas.” Dean couldn't help smiling, because Cas was Cas, no matter the situation. 

** **


	2. Chapter 2

Six months later:

Dean woke with his right arm draped across Castiel's waist. They had a comforter covering their naked bodies, and the bed, while smelling of sex, was clean. He lifted his head and looked around. The hotel room that they were currently staying in was a higher quality than he was used to. In fact, if their financial situation remained as it was, Dean planned to stay in this level of comfort as long as possible. The Residence Inn that Castiel had chosen might as well be a miniature apartment. It had a nice kitchen and a living room area to go along with the extremely comfortable bed. 

It had been months since the World Series had ended just as he had known it would. Richie had called him frantic and pissed. 

“Freaking Hell, Dean,” he had yelled. “How? How did you know?”

Dean only smiled and replied that he'd had a really strong feeling. Castiel had flown them back to the bookie and presented the winning bet to him less than twelve hours after the final game in the series had ended. The bookie, with so many other patrons around, had no choice but to pay up. Rumors of a huge payoff had started to fly about one lucky bet and by the time they left, satchel of money in hand, there had been quite a stir. Richie of course had to make himself scarce from the Tri-State area for a while, since it had been his friend that made the bookie lose all that money. The last Dean had heard, he was in Washington State, working at Voodoo Doughnuts. 

The best part had been Castiel flying them back to the Impala, which at the time, had been safely parked at Bobby's. The older hunter had not been at all pleased at Dean's sudden windfall, but hadn't objected to Dean using said money to help out around the house. 

Sex with Castiel had been awkward and amazing in ways that even his first time when he had been sixteen hadn't measured up. Any prior experience he might have had with men was a pale imitation of the intimacy he'd had with the angel. They hadn't even had penetrative sex yet and Dean knew he was ruined for anyone else.

They hadn't heard anything from Gabriel yet, but they really didn't expect to. Dean doubted that the elusive archangel was going to be making social visits. Though as much as he hated to admit it, it might have been another year before he had allowed himself to ask for the level of intimacy that he had wanted with his friend. 

They hadn't actually told anyone they were together, officially, but they didn't hide the depth of their relationship either. It was no one's business but theirs after all, and some hunters were a lot more closed minded about homosexuality than someone that knew that monsters existed ought to be. 

Dean opened his eyes and saw Castiel was awake and reading the Men of Letters book they had dug up in the graveyard. “Find anything interesting?” The book was written in several different languages; Welsh, Italian, Arabic, and Macedonian. The language changed every four paragraphs. Which made it impossible for Dean to read without months of translating. Castiel, as an angel, was fluent in all languages so it was up to him to discover the books secrets.

“Perhaps.” Castiel sat up and placed the book on his lap. “In general this book seems to be a compendium of where to find and how to harvest, rare and valuable items for conjuration. This chapter speaks of the value of tracking the bloodlines of vessels. How each bloodline is a branch off of an original group of humans that had been given a blessing by God.” He flipped several pages back and pointed to one chapter. “It is very clinical in its description. I find it rather disturbing that the author refers to vessel families as resources.”

“Resources?” Dean looked up at him. “For what?” 

“Apparently they found a way to harvest components from angels.”

“What kind of components?” Dean asked, concerned. 

“Angel feathers, fragments of grace, there is even a section describing the alchemical difference between angel and nephylym blood,” Castiel replied. “The way this is worded, I am extremely doubtful that the samples were given willingly.”

“I thought these were supposed to be good guys.” Dean didn't like the idea of forcefully extracting 'samples' from anything. 

“They seem to be more like neutral observers,” Castiel replied. “At least this iteration of them. This book was written almost two centuries ago. Time does have a way of changing attitudes.” He flipped through the pages. “What I find most disturbing of all, is they seem to have experimented on the effects of the blood of different supernatural creatures on humans, including demon blood.” 

Dean felt sick at the thought of anyone being used as a test subject like that. “Maybe that's why the book was buried?” His phone rang and he groaned in protest before he rolled over and answered it. “Yo.”

“Dean?” John's voice was muffled by static. 

“Dad?” Dean sat up.

“Thank God, you're okay.” John sounded frantic.

“What's going on?” Dean asked. 

“You need to listen to me,” John said. “You were right. They're everywhere.” 

“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded. 

“Demons,” John replied. “They killed your mother. I'm going to stop them but I need you to stay away. I don't wa....” There was a burst of static that obscured and garbled what ever his father said next. “...care of Sammy.” 

“Damn it, Dad! What are you saying?” Dean demanded. “Where are you?” 

“That's an order, Dean.” John's call suddenly became clear. “I'll call when I can.” 

“Wait Dad--,” Dean tried, but the call ended with a beep. He stared down at his phone in horror. “Son of a bitch!” He stood and headed for the shower. 

“Dean, wait, I will find him,” Castiel said, he was standing fully dressed. 

“What?” Dean stopped in his tracks. He was so freaked out he didn't know what Castiel was talking about.

Castiel smiled at him. “We have been traveling the human way for so long, I believe you have forgotten that I can fly.” 

Stunned, Dean smiled back at him. “I love you.” He found himself pulled into a quick kiss. When they pulled back he was clean and fully dressed. “Cheater.”

“Hold on,” Castiel said and touched his forehead. 

A moment later they were outside an old warehouse, next to his father's truck. The sounds of fighting going on inside the open cargo doors. Dean ran inside, his shotgun at he ready. John was struggling against an assailant half his size. It was a petite blonde, haired woman with a pixie style haircut. 

“It's Meg,” Castiel said. “I did not expect her here.” 

“She was out of the pit way before Ruby was,” Dean replied. “She had been stalking Sam on and off once he started hunting again.” 

“You really screwed up this time, John,” she said with a bone chilling smile. “You think we wouldn't hear about you looking for the Colt? Everyone knows what gun does, you might as well have declared war on the monsters of this world.” 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” John replied. He was out matched in strength and speed, but he was a tough fighter. He gave as good as he got. The problem was, demons didn't care how hard you hit them. Their entire existence revolved around pain, a punch from a human barely registered with them. 

“Are there anymore demons around?” Dean asked. 

“No,” Castiel replied. “She is alone. On her own she is more than a match for your father.” 

Dean pulled out the demon knife. “I know.” 

“You started this.” John struck Meg across the face with an iron crowbar. “When you killed my wife.” 

“You're such a one trick pony, John,” Meg laughed, even as she spit blood out of her mouth. “Is that all you can think about?” 

“Can you get a devil's trap around them without her noticing?” Dean asked. 

“No,” Castiel admitted. “But I can probably get iron chains around her. That should hold her for a while.” 

“Do it,” Dean replied. “I'll get her attention.” He stepped into the dim light. “Is this a private party or can anyone join in?” 

“Dean?” John glanced over at him. “Get out of here.” 

“I would,” Dean lied. “But this minx here has information that I'd really like to hear.” 

“Oh my,” Meg said with a sultry smile. “If it isn't the good son. I'm surprised you're here. Didn't daddy warn you off?” 

“Well, I'm not all that great following orders anymore,” Dean replied. “I have to tell you, I'm disappointed. I mean I expected a lot more from one of Azazel's children.” 

“What?” Meg stumbled, her smile slid from her face. 

At that moment, Castiel appeared behind her and wrapped thick iron chains around her body, pinning her arms down. “Hello Meg.”

“No! Let me go.” 

“Yeah, that's not going to happen.” Dean scoffed. “Now be a good little demon and stay still for a bit.” 

Several minutes later, the demon was safely secured inside a devil's trap. She snarled and spit at them from her confined space. “Let me out or you'll regret you were ever born.”

“So, Dad,” Dean said ignoring the threat. “You wanna tell me what that call was all about?” 

“I was trying to protect you,” John began but stopped and looked at him hard. “How did you get here?” 

“I have my ways.” Dean shrugged. “Meg here said you were hunting for the Colt. I thought we discussed that.”

“That gun is more than just a weapon,” John said. “It's a means to an end.” 

“You're a fool, John,” Castiel said. 

“I don't take advice from monsters,” John replied. “I don't know what you are, but after that display, I know you aren't human.” 

“Think what you will, but you will not be able to harm me,” Castiel said evenly.

“So, Meg.” Dean turned to the demon. “I'll ask again. Where is Azazel?”

“How do you know his name?” Meg demanded. “My father's name has been a guarded secret for centuries. 

“You could say a little birdie talked,” Dean replied. “Where is he?”

“Alright,” Meg gave him a sly smile. “He is preparing the way. And when he is done the armies of Hell will descend up on humanity like locusts.”

“You mean the army waiting for the devil's gate to open?” This time it was Dean's turn to grin. “Sorry sister, that door is sealed up tight.”

Meg's smile faded. “What do you know about it?” 

“I'm asking the questions, lady,” Dean replied. “Where is Azazel?”

“What are you going to do, pretty boy?” Meg taunted. “Talk me to death?” 

Dean pulled out the demon killing knife. “Do you know what this is?” 

Meg backed away from the edge of the trap. “Where did you get that?” 

“That would be telling,” Dean replied, his smile gone and his eyes were dark with the memories of hell. “The difference between this and that little popgun that everyone, including you, are looking for?” He stepped into the trap's area of effect. “It doesn't have to kill if you know how to use it right.” He slashed the blade across Meg's forearm. The wound burned and sparked with red fire. Meg let out a cry of surprise and pain. He slipped up close to her and whispered into her ear. “And believe me when I say I've learned from the best.” 

“Dean,” Castiel's voice called him back from his own head. The darkness that often lurked too close to the surface, receded back to a corner of his mind. 

He backed out of the circle and twirled the knife lazily. “Now we can do this two ways. You can just tell us what we need to know and we'll kill you quick, or me and Castiel will work on you until you break.” 

“Castiel.” Meg glanced at the angel. She repeated his name like she was trying out the feel of it on her tongue. “You're one of those winged wimps.” 

“You know I am,” Castiel replied. “Though I would rather you tell us without having to resort to violence, I am prepared to extract the information we need from you by what ever means necessary.” 

“I didn't think you'd sully your pretty little halo with that kind of thing.” Meg taunted. 

“Perhaps at one time, I would have thought it was God's will to do such a thing and believe it justified,” he sighed. “Now, I know that any regrettable acts that I commit for good or ill must be judged when I take my final rest.”

“An angel talking about death.” Meg gave a deep laugh. 

“Of all the beings in this room only John Winchester does not understand the true nature of death.” Castiel told her. 

“You?” Meg scoffed and turned to Dean. “What do you know of death or suffering, pretty boy?”

“I know what it feels like to have your body ripped to shreds,” Dean said. “I know what the racks feel like. I know what it's like to not care anymore what happens to you because the things that gave you purpose were ripped from you.” The feel of his brother's lifeless body in his arms. The pain of the hell hounds rending his flesh. “Nothing hurts worse than knowing the people that you've always depended on for security, don't need you.” The knowledge that no matter how much he wanted his family to stay together, he had known that the only way to keep them, was to let them go. Maybe, if he had been less dependent, less needy, he wouldn't have ended up so desperate to bring his brother back from the dead. Wouldn't have played right into Azazel's hands.

“Dean...” John's voice broke him out of his memories. 

He turned to look at his father, he wasn't sure what he was giving away, but it made the older man step backward. 

“You stay out of this,” he said. “You want an explanation, you'll get it after we're done.” 

“Meg,” Dean turned back to the demon. “We're going to tell you a story. When we're done, if you don't want to talk after you hear what we have to say, then we'll do this the old fashioned way.”

“I love story time,” Meg replied. 

Dean began the story like a fairy tale.“Once, there was family made up of all brothers and sisters. Some were great and some were small, but they were all family and loved their father. Among the family there was one beloved and more beautiful than any of the others. Favored not just for his beauty but for his devotion to his father. Then one day, an event happened that the family wasn't ready for. Their father announced that they were going to witness the birth of his greatest creation. Of course everyone was very excited.”

He turned to Castiel and the angel nodded his understanding of how he wanted the story to proceed.

“The day arrived and their father unveiled his creation, but it was nothing like any of them had imagined. It was made of flesh and bone, it was clumsy and ugly when compared to themselves. The prince, who was loved by everyone, despised this new creation and was determined to prove that it was flawed and unworthy of the devotion and attention their father lavished on it,” Castiel said. “So he took a few and with the gifts his father had granted him, twisted them until the tiny, but powerful light inside blackened. It was his first act of creation.”

“You're telling me about Lucifer?” Meg laughed. “I know this story! And he was cast out and imprisoned for not bowing before the wretched humans and waits until his children shall set him free and we shall rule all of creation. Hell, Earth, and Heaven shall be ours.” 

“That is not the story, Meg,” Castiel said. “That is what you want to believe. Lucifer hates demons. He was beautiful and radiant, but all he created was dark and twisted. Nothing he made compared to the pure human soul, nothing he tried compared to his own siblings.” 

“He loves us,” Meg countered. 

“You are nothing more than tools, pawns on a chessboard,” Dean replied. “He'd happily sacrifice all the souls in hell for a chance to breach the gates of Heaven and prove himself right. And if he wins, he'll destroy every demon in existence because they were all once human souls.

“That's not true!” Meg denied. “He loves us.”

“That is the lie that Azazel has taught you,” Dean replied. “He might even believe it himself, since he was once an angel. But his first loyalty is to Lucifer, not you. If it turned out that he needed your power to release the Morning Star, he would gut you like a fish without thinking twice about it.”

“No,” Meg replied. 

“Yes,” Castiel said calmly. 

“Why are you telling me this?” she demanded. 

“Because, unlike Lucifer, we don't have to use half truths and distortions to create loyalty and devotion.” Dean replied. “Blind obedience whether to God or Lucifer or anyone else is not the answer. You give up your free will and let others tell you what to do, you're no better than an animal. A loyal dog obeying their master.” 

Megs eyes went black with rage and she lunged at Dean, but she bounced off the devil's trap and landed in a heap on the ground. She pulled herself up onto her knees, but didn't try to attack again. 

Dean knelt next to her. “I know it hurts to think about, how little you mean to someone that you've loved for what seems like forever, but you have a chance to stop this before it starts.”

“How?” Meg asked softly. 

“Tell me where Azazel is and we'll take him out,” Dean replied. “Without him pulling the strings, the whole plan falls apart.”

Meg looked up at him and for several minutes it looked like she wasn't going to say anything. “He's in Guthrie, Oklahoma. One of his kids is manifesting earlier than expected. He likes to give them pointers.”

“Thank you,” Dean said softly. He showed her the knife this time as an offer instead of a threat. 

“My meat suit is dead,” she said with a nod. “Make it quick.” 

Dean looked her in the eyes as he thrust the dagger into Meg's chest. The light of her demonic soul's destruction lit up her bones from within. He caught her body before it fell and laid it gently on the ground. 

“I wish we could have done more for her than a quick death,” Castiel said softly, standing next to him. 

Dean reached out and took the angel's hand in his. “Me too.”

** **

There was a large pile of pallets at one end of the warehouse, so Dean set about making a pyre. Meg had been a massive pain in the ass, but she had been a known quantity. He wouldn't miss her, but he respected her as an adversary. 

Once the pyre was complete, Castiel appeared, carrying her body. He had wrapped in some kind of cotton cloth. Once the fire was well and truly caught both of them turned to see John watching them with a gun in his hand. 

“What was that?” John demanded. 

“So, Dad,” Dean gave him a tight smile. “I guess we need to talk.” 

“I don't know who you are but you're not my son,” John said, his face twisted in fury. 

“Where are we anyway?” Dean asked Castiel, not bothering to argue with his father. 

“We are just outside of Lawrence, Kansas,” he replied. 

“What are you doing back in Lawrence?” Dean asked. 

“I came to talk to an old friend,” John said crossly. “Something is wrong with you and I needed help.” 

“You went to Missouri,” Dean realized. 

“Who?” Castiel asked. 

“She's a psychic,” Dean replied. “She's the one that told Dad about monsters.”

“What did she tell you?” Castiel asked. 

“I'm not talking to you,” John replied, pointing his gun at the angel. “You're not human.”

“I never said I was,” Castiel replied.

“What did she tell you?” Dean echoed. 

“She said you had changed,” John replied. “She said you seemed older than you should be. That she couldn't see anything else because something was blocking her.” 

“Dad... I'm still your son.” Dean sighed. “You think you know me. You think you know what's best, but you don't, not really.” 

“What happened to you?” John asked. 

“It doesn't matter,” Dean replied. “There is no going back to who I was.” 

“It matters to me,” John asserted in a harsh growl. “It matters when my oldest son, the one I thought I could always count on, is joined at the hip with some inhuman monster.”

“You don't get to judge me, ” Dean replied. “Not after you just tried to go one on one against a demon with no backup.” 

“I was handling it just fine,” John replied. 

“Right,” Dean scoffed. “And what the hell was that phone call? You warning me away?” 

“I didn't want you to get hurt,” John replied. 

“That never bothered you before,” Dean said, sharply.

“That's not true,” John denied. “I've never wanted to see you hurt. Why do you think I trained you so hard? Soldiers needs to know how to fight.” 

“And that's all I've ever been to you, since the day Mom died,” Dean retorted. “A soldier in your war.”

“We are not hashing this out again. You know my reasons. Hell, you agreed with them,” John replied. 

“Of course I did,” Dean said. “Because I was a child who needed your approval. If turning myself into your vision of a perfect soldier was what it took then of course that was what I did. Sam was enough of a rebellious youth for this family.” 

“So what now?” John asked. 

“Now we take out Azazel and--” 

“Who is Azazel?” John demanded. 

“The demon that killed mom,” Dean admitted with a small wince. That slip was going to cost him.

“You know it's name?” John grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt. “You know it's name and you didn't tell me?” He shook Dean violently. “Why? How long have you known?” 

“About a year,” Dean replied, unrepentant. 

“A year?” John shoved him away, his face awash with anger and confusion. “We could have summoned it and ended this.”

“It's not that simple, John,” Castiel said. “There are other players, other factors.” 

“You are the reason he didn't tell me,” John turned on Castiel, furious. “You turned him against me.” 

“Oh my God. Could you be a little more dramatic?” a voice from out of nowhere said. A strip of duct tape appeared over John's mouth as Gabriel popped into view. “Hey you crazy kids. How's tricks?” 

“Ga- Loki,” Dean sighed. “What brings you here?” 

“I noticed your family drama and I thought I'd stop by,” Gabriel said with a cheeky smile. 

“I thought you avoided family conflict,” Castiel said, skeptically.

“Well, you were right,” Gabriel said. “If I just sit around and let things happen, I'm just as guilty as the douchebags that want to end the world.” 

“Thanks.” Dean nodded. He glanced over at his father, who was trying to get the duct tape off his mouth with no success. “Dad, you might as well stop struggling, that tape isn't going to come off until he wants it to.” 

John's eyes went wide.

“Loki, God of Lies,” Dean said. “Meet John Winchester, king of misinformation and obfuscations when it comes to dealing with family.”

If looks could kill, Dean would have been a smear on the ground. John was furious with him and all things considered, Dean couldn't blame him. From his perspective it must have looked like his oldest son had lost his mind. He was consorting with monsters and keeping secrets. Things that his father found unacceptable.

“So how can you help us?” Castiel asked.

“I did some recon,” Gabriel said. “None of the boys upstairs, other than a very small group even know what is going on. The complete lack of information sharing going on is pretty damning. The song of the host is so muted, you'd think no one was allowed to speak their minds.” 

“We aren't,” Castiel said. “The edict of conformity came down a thousand years ago. The garrison was specifically ordered to be silent and observe humanity. I think that is why Anael Fell.”

“Anael Fell?” Gabriel gaped in shock. “But she was always so steadfast.”

“The silence drove her mad,” Castiel recalled. 

“She said something about that,” Dean said softly. “How they had to stand there watching humans, silent and invisible to all but each other.”

“She had always sung her joy into the collective,” Castiel recalled. “And since we were not allowed to communicate via the host she lost her desire to be.” 

“So she tore out her grace and Fell,” Dean finished.

“Screw Lucifer getting out,” Gabriel said with a growl. “I'll kill Michael myself for that.” 

“I don't think Michael knew,” Castiel said carefully. “There is a chance that most of what happened was due to Zachariah.”

“What dickhead put him in charge of anything?” Gabriel muttered. 

“Your absence forced a restructuring of certain areas,” Castiel replied. “Zachariah was ambitious and more than willing to go to extremes to get results.” 

“How far?” Gabriel asked. 

“I think he turned a blind eye as Uriel murdered of a dozen members of my garrison in order to distract us from protecting important Seals,” Castiel admitted. 

“Uriel?” Gabriel said, skeptically. 

“His hatred of humanity has clouded his judgment,” Castiel replied. “He seeks to open the cage himself and set Lucifer free in order to wipe them from existence. He arranged for a demon that we had captured to get free so that he could murder Dean and drag his soul to hell.” 

“So he's lost himself just as thoroughly as Anael did,” Gabriel said thoughtfully. 

“I suppose that is one way to look at it,” Dean said. 

“How would you put it?” Gabriel asked. 

“Look, you all followed God because he didn't give you a choice,” Dean said, carefully. “From everything I've read, you all aren't supposed to have free will.”

“That is what we were taught.” Castiel agreed. 

“But what if, when he gave free will to us, he gave it to you guys as well?” Dean asked. He saw the incredulous looks on both angels. “Think about it. Lucifer wasn't punished because he disobeyed, he was punished because he was hurting people.”

“That makes way too much sense,” Gabriel said. 

“If you couldn't disobey, then how were you able to leave?” Dean asked Gabriel. “How was Anna, Anael, able to Fall?” 

“If that is the case, then why not tell us?” Castiel asked. 

“Maybe he did,” Gabriel replied. “But we were made to forget.”

“Exactly,” Dean replied. “Cas got dragged back to Heaven and put through some kind of re-education because he was going to tell me the truth about the Seals.”

“So if the Host is constantly being told that they can't think for themselves, and there is no evidence of anyone ever being allowed free will, why would they ever assume it was theirs for the taking?” Gabriel looked like he was going to be sick. “If this is true then that means...” His eyes suddenly blazed with white light. 

Dean got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something, a memory, a realization had caused a rare moment of pure rage in the generally easy going archangel. He almost felt sorry for whoever the poor son of a bitch was that caused it. 

“Gabriel, what are you going to do,” Castiel asked. 

“When the end of the world issue is averted, I'm going to find Michael and he and I are going to have a little chat,” Gabriel said, the light faded as he calmed. 

“Right. So, Azazel is in Guthrie, Oklahoma,” Dean said quickly. “Wanna give us a hand?” 

“My pleasure.” Gabriel snapped his fingers and a moment later they were outside a split level ranch in the middle of suburbia. 

* * * 

“You brought my dad along? Why?” Dean knew that came out like a whine, but seriously he didn't need John at his back asking questions that he wasn't willing to answer. The duct tape had been removed but his father was uncharacteristically silent about what he had witnessed. 

“I wasn't going to leave him there,” Gabriel replied. “He heard our whole conversation.” He smirked then added. “Besides it's well past time your old man learns that not everything not human deserves to be hunted.”

John glared at him. “What makes you think I won't kill you right now?” 

“Hmm,” Gabriel looked him over. “Well Johnny-boy there are only two things in this world that might manage to take me out. And for your information, that popgun you've been searching for isn't one of them.” 

“How do you know about that?” John demanded. Dean was pretty sure his father was going to have a brain aneurysm if he didn't get control of his temper. 

“Oh, please,” Gabriel scoffed. “You haven't exactly been subtle. The entire supernatural world knows you've been looking for the Colt. You might as well be waving a red cape at a bull.” 

“Would you two mind keeping it down, there is a demon nearby that I would love to take out. He'll pull a runner if he notices the shouting,” Dean whispered in exasperation. He was watching a house that sat at the end of the street. It was nice, with a well kept front yard. There was a human figure standing just outside the house.

“What do you know,” Gabriel said. “That little lady demon wasn't lying.” In a flash the archangel was standing directly in front of the figure. But instead of wearing the regular street clothes that they normally saw him in, his appearance had morphed so that he was wearing something that looked stolen right out of a issue of Marvel Comics. All greens, blacks, and golds, with a scepter that was taller than him by half a head. He wore a helmet with long, thin, golden horns that curved backwards. 

“Halt!” Gabriel shouted his free hand raised. “Lowly beast of the underworld. Begone from this place, before I set my wrath upon you.”

Dean and Castiel made their way quietly along the edges of the area properties. Gabriel was giving them the distraction the needed to sneak up behind him. Azazel was probably too powerful for the knife to kill outright, but he was pretty certain they could take him out with an angel blade.

“A pagan,” Azazel snorted with derision. “Are you kidding me?” 

“I do not jest,” Gabriel replied with a flourish. 

“You're nothing but a overgrown trickster. Go bother some cheating college professor or I'll wipe you from existence.” He raised a hand and made to force throw Gabriel across the yard. There was a long moment when neither of them moved. 

“Behold foul creature,” Gabriel made a grabbing motion and then punched out. The force of his will sent Azazel flying back into the street. “Your powers are but a paltry sting to one such as I. For I am Loki, of Asgard.” 

“Not possible!” Azazel climbed to his feet and his eyes glowed yellow. He slashed his hand cross ways and a bloody gash appeared on Gabriel's face. “Pagans don't have the juice to stand up to the likes of me.” 

Dean walked up right behind him and said. “Maybe not, but angels do.” Azazel turned in surprise and Dean thrust the demon killing blade into his heart. Azazel staggered back with the blade still embedded in his chest. Castiel came up behind him, and covered his mouth with his left hand, and stabbed the demon in the back with his right hand. The tip of the blade protruded out of the demon's chest right next to the other blade's handle. 

Azazel staggered and lurched the power of both weapons skittered and sparked inside the body he was possessing. He spun, even as he fell, his eyes wide with disbelief as Gabriel dropped his disguise for a moment and showed his true self.

“Sorry, Azazel, no apocalypse for you.” Gabriel gave him a light push and the demon fell over, dead. 

“That's for my family, you son of a bitch,” Dean said softly. He felt a wave of satisfaction, they had managed to kill Azazel with little collateral damage. But he knew this wasn't the end. Not yet. There were other players that needed to be dealt with, one way or another. 

John walked up to where they were all standing, his eyes narrow, but his expression of placid. “What have you done?” 

Dean turned to answer but Gabriel grabbed both him and Castiel by the shoulders and pulled them away from the elder Winchester. “That's not your father, Dean.”

“God damn it, Dad.” Dean's elation crumbled in a wave of pure frustration. “I warned you to get protected against possession.” 

“That's no demon.” Castiel said his voice tight with fear. “That's Michael.”

** **

“Dad!” Dean tried to rush forward, to deny that this was happening, but Castiel held him back. “Let him go, Michael.”

“Let him go?” Michael chuckling. “Why should I do that? He gave me permission of his own free will.”

Another angel appeared next to him. This wasn't the usual soldier Dean had grown used to dealing with. It was unmistakably Zachariah, looking smug and confident. The odds were suddenly looking a lot less favorable, but that only made him more angry. 

“I've seen what you really think of free will,” Dean replied, furious. “Sell it walkin', asshole.” 

“You will show respect to your betters, you maggot,” Zachariah told him with venom. 

“Respect is earned,” Dean retorted. “And I've yet to see anything that you've done that would actually earn mine.”

“See?” Michael turned his gaze to Dean, his placid expression twisting to something akin to confusion. “There have been no angels on Earth in generations.”

“It shows,” Dean replied. “Monsters roaming everywhere, demons making deals without fear of anyone stopping them. Incurable diseases and untold suffering all over the planet.” 

“That is not our concern,” Zachariah scoffed. “You humans bring that suffering on yourselves.” 

“Lucifer created the first demons,” Dean shot back. “But instead of finding a way to turn them back, to help them, you dumped them into a pit you called Hell and left them to rot.”

“There is no way to save a soul once it is corrupted,” Zachariah replied. “The best we could do was try and contain the damage.”

“Did you even try?” Dean demanded. “Or were you so myopic that you thought you could bury the problem and it would just go away.” 

“You watch your mouth, boy.” Zachariah took a step forward. 

“Why should he?” Castiel said, quietly. “It is the truth.” 

“Right and all you did was sit back and watch as demon after demon escaped from the pit to cause chaos and destruction,” Dean replied. “Because you're so fixated on the Apocalypse that you don't give a damn what happens in between. ” 

Michael looked at him with what could only be described as pity. “I know this must be hard for you to believe, but what is going to happen is what is best for all. Angels and humans alike.” 

“Who gave you the right to decide what is best for anyone?” Dean demanded. 

“It is my father's command that-”

“Bullshit.” Dean cut him off, sick to death of the paper thin justifications that the archangel had used over and over again. 

“Careful, Dean,” Castiel said softly. 

“Yes, be careful Dean,” Zachariah sneered. “Your usefulness only goes so far.”

“Right, because I'm Michael's true vessel,” Dean said. “The only angel condom he can wear and use all his powers in without frying my brain. I know all about it.” 

“How is it you seem to know so much? John was most concerned about it.” Michael, intrigued, glanced at Zachariah. “This information was not meant to be shared by anyone yet.” 

“Someone must have talked,” Zachariah simpered. “I'll look into it when we return to heaven, my lord.” 

“Yeah well.” Dean shrugged. “Someone had to come in and reshuffle the cards after you stacked the deck in your favor.”

“What was done was for the good of all,” Michael repeated, like a mantra. “I shall defeat the serpent and bring the kingdom of heaven upon the earth and paradise will reign.” 

“Michael, you stand here all but admitting that your culpability to the creation and propagation of Hell,” Castiel said, not quite as calmly as Dean was hoping for, but better than he might have expected. “How dare you believe you have the right to destroy that which our father created before you even attempt to repair the damage you helped create.” 

“Castiel.” Michael turned his gaze to the angel, as though only now recognizing him. “Why are you away from your garrison?”

“I am where I choose to be, Michael,” Castiel said. 

“You chose?” Michael echoed. 

“Yes.” Castiel didn't flinch at the gaze, but it was obvious that he was nervous. He had already been killed twice by archangels and brought back. A third smiting might stick and Dean really didn't want that theory tested. “Yes. My choice. An exercise in free will. Something that you seem to acknowledge exists only when it serves your own purposes.”

“So you choose to consort with pagan gods and mud monkeys?” Zachariah said with an air of disgust. “Next you'll claim to love them.”

“Love comes in many guises,” Castiel replied. “To love these two beings is but to embrace the lessons that our father wished us to learn. To love and be loved, without fear of judgment, so long as we do no harm.”

“That is a lie,” Zachariah retorted. “We were made to love only God and obey our superiors.”

“Return to the garrison, Castiel,” Michael ordered, dismissively. “Or be made an example of to the rest of the Host.” 

“What sort of example would you make of me?” Castiel asked. “Would you send me to re-education again? Zachariah has done that a dozen times already. It doesn't seem to work for very long. Would you gather up the Host and smite me publicly? The host would be curious as to my crime.”

“Order must be maintained,” Zachariah said. “The Host must be ready to fight when the apocalypse starts.”

“By forcing them to watch impotently as the dark creatures of the world operate freely?” Castiel demanded. “Do you understand how painful it is to watch humanity suffer, knowing you have the power to help, but not being allowed to do so much as heal a dying child?” 

“The trivialities of humans are not our concern,” Michael replied. “The final battle against the forces of darkness are our primary concern.”

“How are you going to fight Lucifer if the First Seal stays intact?” Dean asked. “I'm not planning on damning myself, so unless you're actually throwing someone into hell for the purpose of breaking the seal, I don't think your plan will work. Because without Azazel out there to open the devil's gate, Lilith can't escape Hell.”

“There are other ways to achieve our goal,” Zachariah said. “Allowing Azazel to complete his plan was just the most convenient.”

“And what would the Host say to that?” Gabriel, still disguised as Loki asked. “Do you think your brethren will tolerate such a deception.” 

“Of course we can't have the soldiers know the truth,” Zachariah laughed. “We'd have a full scale rebellion on our hands.”

“Funny, that was exactly what I was thinking,” Gabriel said. “It would be tragic for you if someone were to tell them.”

“It would be,” Michael said. “But then with you three dead, no one will know.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

“Dean!” Castiel threw himself in front of him, covering Dean's body in a desperate move.

There was a flash of light and the strong smell of ozone in the air. For a moment Dean thought they were going to die right there. He blinked rapidly trying to clear his vision as Castiel pulled away to see what had happened. Gabriel had shed his Norse god persona and was standing before Michael, his multitude of translucent wings spread out, wide, shielding both himself and Castiel from whatever snapping fingers did to a living being.

“That wasn't very nice,” Gabriel said. “Hey, Bro. Long time no see.” 

“Gabriel? I thought you were dead.” Michael looked elated for a moment, but then he saw the tattered remains of the Norse garments that lay on the ground around them. “You were disguised as a pagan god?” 

“Yep,” Gabriel shrugged. “It was fun. The Norse sure know how to throw a party.”

“Why would you abandon your family?” Michael demanded. “And to consort with pagans?”

It was strange, the inflection he used. Dean would almost believe the archangel was hurt.

“They aren't that much different from us you know.” Gabriel countered. “Sure they have a terrible habit of devouring humans for energy when their pool of worshipers gets low, but they aren't bad people. They even have their own end of the world gig, but so do most pantheons.”

“Why did you leave us?” Michael asked. 

“I had my reasons,” Gabriel replied. “The main one, of course, was hearing how quiet and miserable the Host became.” Gabriel paced in front of Michael his anger a physical thing. “It was bad enough that Lucifer and the others had been banished. But you couldn't leave it at that could you? No, you looked around for anything that might hint at someone going against what you thought angels were supposed to be.” 

“After the war, order had to be maintained,” Michael said. “No such rebellion could be allowed to occur again.” 

“So you condemned the rest of us to blind obedience?” Gabriel asked. “How is that just?”

“Not you, not Raphael,” Michael replied, seeming confused. “I could never--”

“But you could to the rest of the Host?” Castiel demanded. “You took away our ability to make our own choices just because of what Lucifer did.” 

“But you couldn't maintain it,” Dean realized. “Not with all of them. Not with Cas, not with Anael.” 

“So anyone that disobeyed was sent to re-education,” Castiel said “And anyone that resisted was killed by your enforcers, like Zachariah.”

“It was regrettable,” Michael said.

“Regrettable?” Gabriel shot back at him. “That was monstrous.”

“And Zach here got off on the power trip, every time you allowed him to execute one of your own family.”

“How dare you!” Zachariah spat. 

“So what happened, Michael?” Dean asked. “Did it start to get too hard to maintain control? Is that why you started manipulating the bloodlines to create me and my brother, so that you could have your fight with Lucifer and prove that you were the good guy in all this?”

“It was written that I must fight my brother,” Michael said. “And when I slay the serpent, then the kingdom of heaven shall come upon the earth and paradise shall reign.” 

“Bullshit,” Dean replied. “The apocalypse, the one you seem so hell bent on carrying out, was a political allegory. Told by a prophet having a bad acid trip because the rye he was eating had gone moldy. What the hell made you think that turning it into a true prophecy would improve things?”

Three angels stared at him in confusion. He sighed inwardly, he was so tired of sentient beings assuming he was ignorant or illiterate. Okay, Cas never thought that, but he knew him better than anyone at this point. 

“Don't you people read anything?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Seriously, he was talking about the fall of the Roman empire and the occupation of the holy lands. Don't you even know what a metaphor is?” 

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Michael said fiercely. “I have to destroy Lucifer and bring about paradise.”

“There is no paradise,” Dean said. “No promised land. There is just life here in the dirt until you die. It doesn't matter of you live five years or five billion years. What counts is what you do with the time you have.” Even as he said it, it felt like the most truest thing he had ever spoken in his life. “And, by the way, forcing people to fall in love so that you can end the world? That is probably the sickest thing I've ever seen.” 

Michael blinked hard. “What do you know about that?” 

“I know you used the cherubs to force Mary Campbell and John Winchester to fall in love so that Sam and I could be born. So that you and Lucifer could have your vessels. I know you made sure that the protections on the Campbell house failed so that Azazel could get inside and murder Samuel and Deanna so that Mary would be alone and agree to the deal to bring John back to life.” 

“Also, I don't have any proof, but I'm pretty fucking sure that you did something to make Mary forget she was raised a hunter,” Dean said. “She walked right into that nursery. No protections, no thought of what might happen. You did that! You let my mother die.” His fury was a physical thing that rose in him like a wave and caused his whole body to shake.

“Is this true?” A voice nearby asked. They all turned, startled by the newcomer. She was a young woman, tall, and pale skinned with wide almond shaped eyes and straight black hair. 

“Hael,” Zachariah sneered. “Return to your post.”

She shook her head. “N-no.”

“What did you just say?” Michael turned to her, shocked.

“I said, no,” Hael repeated. “Not until you answer my question.”

Another angel appeared. This time a man in a V-neck shirt and a causal jacket, with short blonde curly hair. “Yes, Michael,” he said. “I would like to know the answer to her question as well.”

“Balthazar,” Castiel said with a small smile. 

“Hello, Cassie,” he smiled back. “You're looking well.” 

“As are you.” 

Dean refused to feel any jealousy. Angels were family, he couldn't, wouldn't, begrudge Cas any close relationships with them. He'd lost to much the first time around.

Balthazar turned to Gabriel. “So is it true? Have we had free will all this time?”

Gabriel shrugged. “There was never a time when I couldn't make my own decisions. I think after Dad made man, he gave that gift to the rest of the host.”

Several more angels appeared, most Dean didn't know, but he recognised Uriel. Then a dozen more, a few moments later the entire street was filled with angels. Michael and Zachariah were surrounded by a fraction of the Host, but it was more than enough to make both angels look nervous. The host looked at Michael expectantly. 

“We're waiting, Michael,” Gabriel said. “Is what Dean just said true?”

“Yes, it's true,” the archangel said. “I had to do it. The host is too large for even three archangels to keep in line. What was I supposed to do? Just let all of you run off and do whatever you wanted? That would be chaos.” He turned slowly his arms spread wide. “I wanted what was best for all of you. We are angels, not humans. We were not built to handle free will like they are. I did what I had to, to make sure none of you got hurt. I did it because you are my family. I love you all.”

“You took way our free will,” Castiel said. “And you killed anyone that questioned you. That is not love. That is obsession and mind control and dictatorship.”

“You did this!” Michael spun on Castiel. “You left your garrison and started an unnatural relationship with my vessel. You ruined everything. Zachariah.” 

Zachariah's blade was out and hurtling through the air before anyone had a chance to move. The blade embedded itself in Castiel's chest, the blow was so powerful he flew back several feet and landed in a heap on the ground. 

“Cas!” Dean yelled in horror and ran to his side. Grace flared and flashed around the wound, but it wasn't instantly fatal. 

Balthazar was on Zachariah an instant later, his own blade pierced through the senior angel's throat, killing him instantly.

Hael was beside Dean, her hands pressing down on Castiel's wound. “Hold on brother. We'll fix you up.” 

Dean turned to Michael, rage flared anew. “I'll fucking kill you, you son of a bitch.” 

“Kill me?” Michael laughed. It was an ugly sound. “Only another archangel can kill me.” Dean looked around at the gathered host looking for assistance. Some who were running to Castiel's side to help him. Strangely enough, Uriel was not one of those rushing to help. “Strange how the song of the host is so loud at the moment, so discordant. I'll have to quiet it down, but first... I need to deal with you.” He pulled out his own blade, one much like Gabriel's, longer and broader than the average angel blade. The host backed away from Michael and his blade, nervously. “Perhaps we'll take this somewhere more private.” 

“Michael, don't,” Gabriel shouted.

Dean had one moment to think, “Oh, shit.” before everything went black.

** **

He woke to find himself in the Rococo nightmare that they called the Beautiful Room. But instead of a feast set out on the table, Dean was laying on it. What was worse; he couldn't move. It wasn't that he was tied down, he could feel the table under his back but his limbs just wouldn't work.

“Welcome back, Dean,” Michael said. He was still wearing his father. The older man's face was set in grim lines. “I'm very disappointed, you know. I was wondering who had betrayed me. Other than Castiel of course, but he has been taken care of.” He sighed. “A shame about losing Zachariah. He was an excellent enforcer.” 

“Cas-,” Dean tried to speak, but Michael waved a hand and he lost the ability to talk. 

Michael rolled his eyes in disgust. “Your paramour is dead. He was a good soldier, but I can't have my family sullying themselves with carnal lust.” 

Dean his eyes grow hot with tears. Castiel couldn't be dead, not again. Not after all they had been through. 

“Look at you,” Michael snorted. “Weak, pathetic human, weeping over a lover you barely had time to get to know. Whose true nature you can't possibly fathom.” He leaned over Dean as though to examine a specimen. The last time someone had taken that much interest in him it had been Alistair. “I had wondered how it was you knew so much, who had betrayed me, so while you where out, I took a little walk through your mind. I have to say, I wasn't expecting time travel.” 

“All those plans, falling to pieces because of Team Free Will.” Micheal laughed. “You should have been content with your victory.” He raised a hand just above Dean's left hip and closed it slowly into a fist. Dean screamed noiselessly as the bone shattered under the invisible force of the archangel's will. “Does that hurt? I've never tried torture before. That was always something I left to Raphael. He enjoyed his work and taught Zachariah quite a few tricks.” He made the same motion, this time it was Dean's right knee cap. 

The pain was nearly overwhelming, but the worst part was that he couldn't move, couldn't even flinch, as he felt every agonizing second of it. Alistair had reveled in his little movements on the rack, had glutted himself on the pain of his victims. Michael was so cold and clinical about what he was doing, he actually looked bored. 

“I find it interesting that my vessel, the ideal soldier in a war against monsters, was able to defy heaven so long that I had to resort to a less than ideal vessel, your half brother.” 

Dean tried to speak but nothing came out. Michael snapped his fingers and Dean could talk again. “You wanted to say something?” 

“Just kill me already,” Dean replied. 

“Kill you?” Michael's laugh was cruelty personified. “What makes you think I'm going to kill you?” He pulled out his blade and stabbed Dean through the right wrist. “I'm going to reduce every bone in your body to powder, one by one and when you are nothing but a soft bag of skin I'm going to open you up and see how far I can pull your organs out before they start to fail. But you won't die, you'll never die.” His eyes glowed as he spoke. “I'll keep death just out of reach. From this moment on, not even Death himself will be able to end your life. You think forty years in Hell was bad? I will take my time, draw this out for centuries, and when I'm done with you, you won't remember what you are, let alone who you once were.” Michael lifted his hand again, this time something in Dean's back shattered. 

“I thought maybe I'd leave you somewhere for the Host to see,” Michael said thoughtfully. “As an example to everyone what price you pay for defying me.” He grabbed Dean by the hair and forced him to meet his own father's eyes. “Perhaps I'll remake you into an obedient pet. Creation is not beyond my abilities after all. Would you like to be a hound? Something to guard me from my enemies. After all, Hell has those vicious beasts, why shouldn't heaven have something similar?” He gentled his grip and petted Dean's hair. “But I'm getting ahead of myself.” 

Dean cringed mentally, but new pain didn't come. Michael's hand quivered in the air. “No. Stop.” Michael seemed to say. Tears flowed down his cheek. “Just stop.” 

“Dean,” John spoke, his voice quivering. “Please forgive me.”

“Dad?” Dean asked, barely daring to hope that his father had pulled off the same miracle with Michael that Sam had managed with Lucifer.

“It's me,” John replied gasping. “I can't hold him back for long, but I just wanted you to know that I love you and that I'm so sorry. Take care of yourself and watch out for Sammy. He won't understand what happened. Tell him, it was my choice.” He grabbed Michael's blade from the table, pulled it out of Dean's wrist with a painful yank. Dean gasped in horror as John plunged the sword into his own heart. 

“Dad!” Dean cried out, even as Michael and his father died in a flash of grace. The force that held Dean paralyzed was released and he was able to pull himself up onto his right side. Beneath his father's body were three sets of wing shaped ash piles. 

Dean slid off the table with a painful thump. His ruined hip and knee made it impossible to stand. He gritted his teeth and made his way to his father's body. “Dad?” 

His father's eyes were open and empty the power of Michael's grace had left scorch marks on his hands and on the skin around his eyes. He wanted to shake his father, to demand to know how he could have let the bastard in. Why did history have to repeat itself like this? 

The first time, it had been Azazel, toying with them. Using John as the conduit for his vicious, sadistic pleasure. Taunting Sam and torturing Dean just because he wanted to. He had nearly bled to death from the bone deep cuts the demon had inflicted on him with just the power of his mind. Only John being able to wrestle control of his body back from Azazel had saved his life. 

“You stupid asshole,” Dean said as tears of grief and pain began to fall. He reached out and closed his father's empty eyes. He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes and sent out a prayer. “Cas, Gabriel, anyone that can hear me. I don't know where I am, but I need help.” He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain in his body. There was nothing he could do to help himself, no first aid he could administer for something like this. 

Dean wasn't sure if how long it was before help came, but he was grateful when the soft flutter of wings heralded the arrival of several angels. 

“Dean!” The sound of his angel's voice was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard and welcomed the warm embrace of his lover as he was pulled into Castiel's arms. 

“Cas...” He whimpered when his injuries were aggravated. “You're alive.”

“Easy there, Dean-o,” Gabriel said from somewhere nearby. “Let's take a look at the damage.” A feeling of warmth and calm enveloped him as the archangel healed his injuries. “Michael, you sick fuck. May you rot in hell with Lucifer for what you did.” 

“Sleep, Dean,” Castiel said, calming him. “I'll be here when you wake.” His angel placed his hand over Dean's eyes and he fell into unconsciousness.

** ** 

Dean woke in a huge, warm, comfortable bed. The familiar smell of ozone and rain that was Castiel's normal scent filled his senses, but when he reached out, the bed was empty. He took stock of his body. His legs moved in their normal range of motion, with no pain. All things considered, he could have been lot worse off. He would probably have nightmares of Michael torturing him for years, like he did with his memories of Hell. His father was dead.

He opened his eyes and looked up at a white textured ceiling. The grief, what there was of it, felt distant and oddly bitter. He had wanted a chance to speak his mind to his father. To find a way to say “I love you, but you suck,” without destroying the man. 

Dean had hoped that, this time, his father would live. That they could have a relationship that didn't revolve around hunting and revenge. Now John was dead years early and the hole that his loss created was bigger than he wanted to think about. Was that the trade off for stopping the Apocalypse before it started? He hoped he wouldn't lose anything else. 

“Dean?” Castiel appeared next to the bed. He was dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans. He looked tired and worried. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean smiled at him. “Where are we?” 

“A safe house that Gabriel created,” Castiel said. “Michael's death has shaken the Host in many ways. There have been some factions created. So things are a bit tense at times.” 

“Factions?” Dean didn't like the sound of that. “How bad are we talking?” 

“Raphael has a small, if vocal, contingent that are calling for your death. He blames you for what happened to Michael. If Gabriel had not come back, I think things would be much more difficult,” Castiel admitted. 

“What about the others?” Dean asked. 

“Hannah and a large group of angels are seeking to remain as untouched by the events as possible, returning to duties that I frankly think are no longer needed.” Castiel sighed. “Balthazar is working with a much more forward thinking group, that is traveling the world. Exploring and enjoying what the Earth as to offer.” 

Dean smiled. “That's kinda cool.”

“Hmm,” Castiel sat down on the bed, he leaned down and stole a quick kiss. “You should rest more.” 

“I feel fine, dude,” Dean replied. “I could use a drink, maybe some food.” 

“Get dressed and come with me to the kitchen,” Castiel nodded. “There is something we need to talk about.” 

“That's not ominous at all,” Dean said with a hint of sarcasm. He climbed out of bed and found a neatly folded pile of clothes waiting on the nightstand. “What's going on?”

“Michael...” Castiel began. 

“Dad killed him,” Dean cut him off, thinking that his friend needed confirmation. 

“Not soon enough,” Castiel replied harshly. 

Dean felt his stomach drop. “What did he do?” He asked as he finished pulling on his boots. 

“I'm honestly not sure,” Castiel admitted. “Gabriel is asking around to see if any of the pantheons have seen anything similar.” He lead the way out of the room down a set of stairs to a nice kitchen with a breakfast area. “You need to eat. Your body went through a trauma and even though you are healed, you need to replace the nutrients.”

“Cas...,” Dean hated it when he started getting cryptic. He sighed when his angel set a plate of food in front of him and refused to say anymore until he ate half of it. “Happy?” he asked when he finished his eggs and bacon.

“Ecstatic,” Castiel deadpanned. He leaned forward, expression all seriousness. “Did Michael say anything to you about what he was doing?” 

“Yeah, he had started a monologue about all the sick things he was going to do to me,” Dean replied with a shudder. “He said that even Death wouldn't be able to kill me. Which I find kind of funny, since I've met the guy and he hates anyone telling him what to do.”

“Did you tell him yet?” Gabriel asked, appearing in the middle of the kitchen, dressed like a soft drink delivery man. A plate with a hamburger and fries appeared in front of Dean and he started eating it. His stomach growling with hunger.

“I was getting there,” Castiel replied. “This is not something you just say without preparation.”

“Wow,” Gabriel looked shocked. “Way to go, Dean, you taught Cas the art of subtlety.” 

“Bite me,” Castiel shot back. 

“Will one of you just tell me already!” Dean shouted. 

“You're immortal,” Gabriel said. “More or less.”

“Excuse me?” Dean leaned back against his chair.

“Michael essentially welded your soul to your body,” Gabriel said in frustration. “So they can't be separated.”

“So are we talking Highlander or Orpheus?” Dean asked. 

“A bit of both, I think, with a little Ahasuerus thrown in for good measure. We won't know for a while if he extended your aging process or just shut it off,” Gabriel replied. A milkshake appeared in his hand which he took a big slurp from. “I would like to talk to Death about it, but he is not answering requests for an audience at the moment.” A pile of salad with thin slices of steak, hard boiled eggs, and chunks of cheese liberally mixed in appeared at the table along with a shake similar to the one that Gabriel was drinking. 

“Great.” Dean covered his face with his hands. “How long was I out?” 

“We kept you unconscious for a few days,” Castiel admitted. “Even in your current state, your body required extensive healing.”

“What Michael started to do to you,” Gabriel shuddered. “It messed up your body chemically and structurally. In essence I had to rebuild parts of your skeleton from scratch. Which is why you're so hungry.” 

Dean looked down at the salad and the shake, which were both a third gone already. After that much food, he should be feeling sick, but he felt like he was only just sating his appetite. “Seriously?”

“You ever read Harry Potter? That scene in The Chamber of Secrets, where Lockhart makes the bones in Harry's arm vanish? Same concept. Fixing a broken bone is a fuck lot easier than having to regrow the whole thing.” Gabriel sighed. “The healing process would have been horrifically painful for you if you had been conscious.” 

Dean nodded slowly, he was grateful for that at least. He knew what he had to do next, but he didn't know if he could face his brother. “Where is Dad's body?” he asked instead. 

“We have him in cold storage at the moment,” Castiel replied. “I knew you would want to give him a proper burial when you were able.”

“Thanks,” Dean sighed. “I need to talk to Sam.”

“I have already informed Bobby of John's death,” Castiel said softly. “He is informing the other hunters. If you would like I can take you to Sam as soon as you are ready.” 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean sighed. “How do you say it? You know, the first time, Sam was the one that found him. After the deal he made with Azazel to save my life.” 

“I wasn't aware of that.” Castiel said.

“Fuck!” Dean lurched to his feet. “Adam.” 

“Your half brother?” Castiel asked. “Dean, you never even met him in this time line.” 

“I know.” Dean ran a hand down his face. “Now I have to tell him that he has two half brothers and his father, a guy he's probably only met a dozen times, is dead.” He sighed. “This isn't fair. Not to me, not to Adam.” 

“Did your father inform Sam of Adam's existence?”

“I don't know,” Dean sighed again. “Damn it.” 

Dean saw Castiel reaching, part of him wanted to pull away, to reject the comfort that was offered. In the other timeline, he would have. Too prideful and stubborn to admit that he needed the touch of another. He would have joked about lady parts and chick flick moments. But he had learned too well the lesson of what burying his own needs did. What it would drive him to. He refused to go down that road again. 

He opened his arms and let Castiel pull him into his warm and loving touch. The grief that had never left him, not in all the years of fighting, came out in great shuddering sobs. Something tight inside him slowly unwound and he felt his body relax. When he finally pulled away, he was a great snotty mess of tears and his face was hot, but he felt better.

** **

A few hours later, after a shower and another meal, Dean let Castiel transport them out to Stanford. He looked around and was surprised to realize that it was a Friday afternoon. Students were running to classes or relaxing in the quads. He searched the crowds for his brother, knowing that he had to be close by. 

Sam was sitting out in the open, a pile of books next to him. To his left was Brady, the handsome blonde was smiling. Sam said something and the young woman on his right let out a peel of laughter. Dean felt his heart constrict. It was Jess. He let himself watch the three friends talk for a few minutes. 

Castiel touched his arm and Dean nodded. He needed to do this now, before he lingered too long. With a deep breath he walked forward. He didn't bother to plaster on a fake smile. He didn't have it in him to drag up an affectation for the masses to see. 

His deliberate steps toward the trio alerted them to their approach. Sam's happy face changed to one of confusion and worry, while Brady looked like he was going to piss himself. 

“Hey Sammy, Brady,” Dean greeted. “It's okay, you're safe.” 

“Sam?” Jessica called. “Who is this?”

“Jess, this is Dean,” Sam said. “My brother.” 

“Nice to meet you, Jess.” Dean smiled at her. He knew it was a little wooden. “This is my partner, Cas.”

Castiel greeted her with a genuine, if sardonic smile. He had never known Jess, had only known what Dean and Sam had told him over the two years they fought to stop the Apocalypse. Dean wondered what he thought of her, now that they had met.

“Dean?” Sam stood and looked him over critically. “What's going on?” 

“It's Dad,” Dean managed to get out as his throat constricted. 

“What's he done now?” Sam sighed. 

“He's dead,” Dean replied. Not even bothering to ease the blow. 

“What?” Sam stepped back in shock. “What do you mean he's dead? When did this happen? How?”  
Both Brady and Jess looked shocked, and Jess placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. 

Dean looked over at Jess. “That's not a story I can tell you in front of strangers. No matter how sweet and charming they might be.”

“I understand,” Jess said amiably. She leaded up and kissed Sam's cheek. “Call me later, okay?” 

Sam blushed and nodded. “I will.” Brady looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there, but he stood beside Sam, making no attempt to leave. Sam turned to Dean and Cas, with a grim expression. “What happened?” He asked again.

“It was a hunt,” Dean said. “We took out the demon that killed Mom, but something else, something a lot stronger, showed up. Dad made a bad decision that got us in serious trouble.”

“Dad made a bad decision?” Sam repeated. “Since when does Dad screw up on a hunt?” 

“He thought something was wrong with me, because I was keeping things from him,” Dean admitted. “He wouldn't accept that I had changed. I think he thought he was protecting me. When he realized he was wrong, Dad sacrificed himself to save me.” 

Sam covered his face with his hands. “Did he say anything?”

“He said he loved you,” Dean replied. “He said he was sorry for the crap he put us through.” 

Sam nodded, he didn't exactly look like he believed John would say something like that. It didn't really  
matter what Sam believed. It was true even if it took the bastards own death to get him to admit it.

“Where is he buried?” Sam asked. 

“He isn't,” Dean said. “We're having a hunter's funeral tomorrow. I'd like it if you could be there.”

“Of course, Dean,” Sam replied. “Just tell me where.”

“We'll pick you up in the morning. There are some other things we need to discuss, but it can wait until after the funeral.” Dean offered, he turned to Tyson. “You can come if you want.” 

Brady nodded but didn't say anything. 

“I'll meet you at your apartment in the morning, okay?” Dean said.

“Of course,” Sam said. “Do you want to talk? About what happened?” 

“Not now,” Dean said. “Tomorrow.” 

** ** 

It was late afternoon in the middle of an empty field in a pocket of abandoned South Dakota farmland. The announcement of the funeral had gone through the hunter grapevine and there were already a half dozen hunters that Dean had known growing up standing in silent witness to his preparations. The pyre was tall and well constructed with dry logs and small sticks with dry grasses mixed in to help spread the fire once it caught. 

John Winchester's body was prepared with Raphael's and Gabriel's help. It was a compromise struck between Heaven and Dean, since the angels wanted a funeral for Michael despite what he had done. Dean had wanted to tell them all to go fuck themselves, but the Host had not been responsible for Michael's actions and he couldn't blame them for needing closure. They anointed the body with myrrh and holy oil and wrapped it in a shroud of white linen. A thick bed of dried palm fronds had been placed atop the pyre. The body was place on to the pyre by Dean and Bobby and covered with a blanket made of long stemmed aster flowers that had been woven together by several angels. 

He had sent Castiel to pick up Sam and Tyson. Apparently his involvement with the supernatural had not scared the young man away and if anything, he had become a much stronger and steadfast friend than Sam was used to. Of course neither of them was prepared for Cas to just fly them right to Bobby's house, but Dean had been busy making final preparations and wasn't in any way emotionally able to deal with the college boys freaking out. 

Now though, Sam and Tyson were in the crowd that had gathered. They stood in the the forefront of a mixed group of hunters and angels. Flanked by Bobby and Ellen on one side and Castiel and Gabriel on the other. 

It was too nice a day, bright and sunny, with very little wind. Dean thought it was fitting actually. A man that spent his life fighting darkness would be put to rest in the light. 

“John Winchester wasn't meant to be a hunter,” Dean said. “He was a kind and gentle person who hated fighting, hated killing. He joined the Marines when he was drafted, because he believed in doing his best in whatever he did.” Dean looked up at the crowd. “When evil touched his family, he didn't hide from it, he went out to learn everything he could and then fought against it the best way he knew how. He made his mark in this community by being one of the scariest sons of bitches you could ever meet.” He looked at his brother. “John wasn't perfect, he made mistakes, but he loved his family. He loved his children, even if sometimes he forgot how to show it. He died as he lived, defending his loved ones from those that would harm them.” He took a step back and allowed Gabriel to step forward.

From a human perspective what happened next was that Gabriel stood in front of the pyre and looked out into the crowd for a long silent moment. Then at some unseen signal half of the people present bowed their heads. 

He then turned to Dean and said quietly, “You were his true vessel. This belongs to you as the eldest son in this bloodline.” He handed him a narrow wooden box about two feet long. Dean didn't have to open it to know that it contained Michael's sword. He nodded and held it tightly in his hands. He already knew he wouldn't use it. There was no way he could use a weapon that his father had used to kill himself, regardless of the circumstances. He would put in storage, someplace safe from demons and angels alike. 

He turned to the gathered mourners. “If there is anyone else that wants to say anything, please step forward.” 

Sam, his eyes wet with tears, stepped up and turned to the crowd. “There was a time, when I couldn't wait to get away from my family. That nothing was more important to me than finding a normal life.” 

Dean met his brother's gaze and he couldn't help but feel sympathy. Sam hadn't had the chance to even try to clear the air between himself and their father this time. He hoped that any guilt would motivate him to find the life he really wanted. 

“The last time I spoke to my father we fought,” Sam confessed to the gathered crowd. “I fought with him a lot over the years. I always thought I would have time to show him what I wanted to do and why it was important. All I wanted was a chance to make him proud. I hope he's at peace now.” He stopped talking and walked back to where Tyson was standing.

Several hunters talked about what a great hunter he was and how they admired his skill. When there were no one else that wanted to talk, Bobby handed Dean a flaming torch. Dean motioned to Sam to join him and together they set the pyre ablaze. 

The wake, which was held a Bobby's, was mostly attended by older hunters. It was really just an excuse to get drunk. Dean had really wanted to get shitfaced with them, but he had more pressing concerns. He stepped outside and found Sam and Tyson in an intense conversation with a few other hunters. 

“Hey guys, mind if I borrow Sam for a bit?” he said and pulled his brother away and deeper into the piles of crushed cars. 

“What's going on?” Sam asked. 

“First,” he held up a set of keys. “These are to Dad's truck. If you want it, it's yours.”

“I- I don't know.” Sam looked at the keys. “Is it even legal?”

“Yeah, it's registered under Dad's real name and everything. You, as his son, would inherit it.”

“If you're sure,” Sam said. 

“I've got the Impala,” Dean replied. “What am I going to do with another car?”

“Okay, yeah, I'll take it,” Sam said and caught the keys deftly when Dean tossed them at him. 

“Great! Now let's go. There is a job we need to do,” Dean said. 

“Now?” Sam looked confused. “This is Dad's funeral and you're already looking for a hunt?” 

“It's not like that,” Dean said. “This is important.” 

“It's always important,” Sam growled in aggravation. “Why are you even telling me this? I told you I don't hunt anymore.” 

“Right,” Dean sighed. “I just want you to come with me. This one job and you'll can go back to becoming a lawyer or whatever it is you really want to be.” 

Sam grimaced, but nodded. “Fine, where are we going?” 

Castiel appeared next to both men, startling Sam even as he reached out to touch him. 

“We're going home,” Dean replied.

** **

The classic 70's style two-story house rested on a one quarter acre lot in the middle of a quiet neighborhood in Lawrence, Kansas. It looked a lot different from what Dean remembered. It was freshly painted a light yellow color and it had bushes and shrubs that desperately needed pruning. The sun had set an hour or so before and there was very little in the way of pedestrians or cars to notice three men simply appearing outside the house.

“Where are we?” Sam demanded, his eyes tracking over to the 'for sale' sign on the front lawn. 

“This is where it started,” Dean said. “This was our house.”

Sam turned to him in confusion. “Why are we here?” 

“I'll show you.” Dean pulled out his lock picks and opened the front door. The place was empty of furniture but smelled of fresh paint and dust. He made his way down into the basement. Under the stairs, right where they should be, was a small keepsake box covered in years worth of dust. “Here,” he said as he handed it to his brother. 

Sam opened the box and froze when he found pictures of when he was a baby. His mother holding him in her arms, smiling. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “I didn't know any of this survived the fire.” He rifled though the photos. There were several of John and Mary together when they were younger. 

Dean felt his chest tighten at the joy in his mother's eyes. John looking young and in love. A love that would be tainted forever in his mind now that he knew that it had been a Cherub induced construct to make sure that Dean and Sam were conceived. He had seen all the pictures the first time, he had cherished them for the memories they stirred. Now, they were all he and Sam would have left of their parents. 

“How did you know this was here?” Sam demanded as he carefully placed the photos back into the box.

Dean ignored the question as they made their way back up the stairs to see Castiel looking up at the ceiling. 

“There is a dark entity in this dwelling,” Castiel said. “But it is being kept in check by another.” He turned to Dean. “You are aware of who the other spirit is?” 

“Yeah,” Dean replied with a sad smile. “Time for them to both rest, don't you think?” 

“I will remove the poltergeist and help her manifest,” Castiel offered. 

“Thanks man, it'll make things easier,” Dean said. His heart was in his throat. 

The angel disappeared, then there was a flash of light and the whole house shook. A moment later the wail of something unearthly began and was abruptly cut off. Castiel reappeared and smiled. 

“She has been waiting a long time to see you both.” 

“Who?” Sam asked. 

Dean watched, trying to swallow his nervousness, as a pillar of fire appeared in the middle of the kitchen. It was terrifying to look at if you didn't know who it was. Slowly the flames grew smaller until the shape of a person formed, then the flames vanished, leaving only the spirit of Mary Winchester standing before them.

“Mom?” Sam asked, shocked.

“Sam, my sweet baby.” Mary smiled sadly. “I'm so sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

“What happened to you. It was my fault,” Mary confessed. 

“No, Mom,” Dean said firmly. “It wasn't. It was the demon. He knew how to manipulate you into making a deal with him.” 

“Deal?” Sam asked.

“The deal I made to save your father's life, I didn't know the demon would come after you.” She took Sam's hand briefly, the coldness of her spirit form caused him to visibly shiver. “I was scared and alone. I didn't let myself think about what would happen ten years later.”

“It's okay, Mom,” Sam said with his eyes bright with tears. “It's over now. The demon is dead.” 

“Really?” Mary asked with hope in her eyes. 

“Yes, Mary,” Castiel said softly. “No one will ever be hurt by it again. You can rest now.” 

She turned grateful eyes to Dean and he felt his chest constrict. “Mom.”

“Dean,” Mary said as she touched his cheeks with her hands. “My beautiful boy.” 

“Mom.” Dean leaned into the touch. “I missed you.”

“I missed you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.” 

“I'm okay.” Dean wiped a tear from his face. 

“I know you're not. You where there. You saw me burn,” she said sadly. “I would have done anything for you not to have seen that.” 

“Your son is a strong man, Mary,” Castiel said. “You should be proud of him.” 

“I was right,” Mary said looking at Castiel. “Angels are watching over you.” 

Dean chuckled quietly. “Well, one angel.” He took Cas's hand in his. “And he does more than watch.” 

“Oh!” Mary smiled brightly. “Do you love him?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Dean admitted, he felt his cheeks go pink.

“Then I'm happy for you.” She kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourselves. I don't want you in heaven too soon.” She stepped back and looked at Sam. “My boys. I love you both, so much.”

Sam swallowed hard. “I love you, too, Mom.”

“It's time to rest, Mary,” Castiel said. He took her hand and she began to glow with a soft golden light until she faded from view.

“I don't understand,” Sam said. “How could she have been here all this time?”

“Mom knew that there was a chance that what happened in the house might attract dark spirits,” Dean said. “She wanted to make sure no one else got hurt because of what happened to her.” 

“I'm placing a blessing on the house, which will negate the damage Azazel caused,” Castiel said. “Nothing else should be attracted to the land again.” 

 

**

“So, um,” Sam said later that night. They were sitting together on the hood of the Impala, drinking beer. “You and Castiel?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. He wasn't going to deny it, but he wasn't going to shout it from the rooftops either. 

“And he's an angel?” Sam asked, seeming to need the truth confirmed.

“Yep,” Dean replied. 

“Huh.” Sam took a long pull on his beer bottle. 

“What?” Dean demanded. 

“It's just, I was wondering where you two met,” Sam replied. “I mean, no one had seen an angel, a confirmed sighting of one, in hundreds if not thousands of years. Now it's like they are just crawling out of the woodwork.” 

Dean looked away. This was the one question he couldn't answer truthfully. Sam might understand on some level, but what had happened, what they had both done to the world, to each other. Sam would take that knowledge and feel guilty as hell about it. No. Sam didn't deserve to be burdened by something he had never done.

“I was on a hunt,” Dean said. “I got in trouble and suddenly he was there.”

“So he saved you?” Sam asked.

“You could say that,” Dean replied.

“Your brother did not think he deserved to be saved,” Castiel said, appearing next to the car. “Our relationship is one based on mutual respect and personal sacrifice.” 

Sam nearly spit out his beer at his sudden appearance. Dean was so used to his coming and going that he didn't even flinch anymore. 

“I thought you were going upstairs to help reorganize things.” 

“I thought you might want some company for this conversation,” Castiel offered. 

“You just wanted to make sure I didn't chicken out,” Dean replied. 

“You have a history of omitting facts.” Castiel stole Dean's beer and drank half of it.

“Get your own!” Dean reached for it, but missed as the angel stepped out of range. 

“Not until you tell him.” 

“I hate you.” 

Castiel smiled, “No you don't.” 

“I could,” Dean threatened. Though he was smiling again so it completely ruined the effect. 

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Sam asked in confusion.

Dean sighed. “We have a half brother.”

Sam had been taking another drink from his bottle and spit out his mouthful. “Excuse me!”

“His name is Adam and he's fourteen years old.” Dean continued. 

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam said, wiping his face. “How long have you known.”

“About a year,” Dean admitted. “Dad was supposedly going to tell you.”

“Well he didn't.” Sam looked hurt. “Where is he? Have you met him?”

“I've never met him,” Dean said. “Dad made me promise to let him introduce us.”

“That worked out really well, I see,” Sam bitched.

“Don't, Sam,” Dean sighed. “He's dead. Let it go.”

“God, you're always defending him.” Sam grumbled. He bowed his head. “So you want me to come with you when you meet him?”

“Would you want to go?” Dean asked. “He's just a kid. He doesn't deserve any anger directed at him.”  
Dean thought about when he first learned of Adam. How pissed he had been, how hurt, that their father had kept this from them. He wouldn't allow that kind of anger to poison any relationship they might be able to create. 

“Maybe you should go first,” Sam sighed. “I don't think I can be rational about this right now.” 

“I'm not going right away.” Dean admitted. “I've got a couple of things I need to take care of first. I'll let you know, but if you're still too angry I'll go on my own.” 

“Sure,” Sam replied. “I think I'm ready to go home now.”

“Okay.” 

** ** 

A month after the funeral, Dean drove to New York state in order to take possession of his father's storage locker. It annoyed him to no end that his father had died before he could find out if there were any more weapons caches that he didn't know about. He was really tempted to ask his boyfriend to go find his father in Heaven and ask him where he hid all his crap. 

As it so happened, Castiel was back up in Heaven visiting with a few friends. He had agreed to help transition the rule of heaven from a dictatorship under the archangels to a more democratic collective of ideas. 

Gabriel was elected leader of heaven, with Raphael as his second on a trail basis. The other archangel had been with Michael every step of the way, until the moment the plan fell to pieces. No one believed that he was done causing trouble, but it was hoped that the newly appointed council would keep him busy for a few hundred years. 

One of the first things they changed was the rules for interaction with the human world. Agents from heaven were now wandering the earth with the intent to find and eliminate any demonic activities. It was working too. The demonic plane crasher was caught and destroyed before it could do more than possess one pilot.

One thing they couldn't or wouldn't stop were crossroad deals. If someone was willing to sell their soul for personal gain, it wasn't up to heaven to stop them. They did however listen for prayers of desperate people who genuinely needed assistance, but saw no other options. No one should be damned because a loved one was dying of cancer. 

There were more miracles in the world, but rather than proclaim them and demand worship in payment, the angels quietly went about healing the sick or allowing for a quicker, more peaceful death. 

The sign for Castle Storage loomed and Dean as happy that the long drive was over. He loved being on the road, but there were times when he just wanted to find a nice place to stay for a while and sleep for a week. 

He turned the corner and nearly slammed into a young woman coming around from the opposite direction. “Whoa there!” he said, catching the woman and steadying her. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” she said. The box in her hands slipped and fell to the ground with a loud thud. 

Dean looked down and recognized it as a hex box from his father's locker. He looked into the face of the woman and suddenly realized he knew her. On pure reflex he slammed his foot down on the metal box, preventing her from picking it up. 

Bela Talbot's eyes widened and she backed up. “I'm sorry, do I know you?” she asked, affecting a southern drawl. 

“No, but I know you,” Dean said. “Abigail.” He felt a moment of smugness when she reared back in surprise and horror at his use of her real first name. That was short lived when she punched him in the face and tried to kick him in the groin. He turned just in time to avoid the second blow and grabbed her arms. They struggled for several long moments until Dean managed to pin her to the floor with his heavier body. 

“God damn it, Bela,” Dean cursed as she tried to scratch his eyes. “I'm not going to hurt you, but you aren't taking that box.” 

“And what do you know about it?” Bela demanded. 

“I'm the owner of the storage locker you stole it from and you are not making any money off of the suffering that thing could cause,” Dean said.

“I don't know who you are,” she said. “But you are not John Winchester.” She tried to shove him off her again.

“No,” Dean replied . “I'm his son and he's dead.”

“What?” Bela widened her eyes at his words. “When did that happen?”

“Don't pretend you didn't know. That spirit board you use probably told you all about it.” Dean let her go and stood. “You don't get to raid his stuff.”

“It's not like he was ever going to use it,” Bela said as she stood and brushed herself off. She looked him over and bit her lower lip. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” She gave him a sultry once over. “I'm sure I could make it worth your while.”

“Save it,” Dean replied. “Not interested.” Even when he had known her the first time, he had never been interested in her sexually. 

Bela gave him a blank look. “Are you kidding me?” 

“No,” Dean replied. “I don't sleep with people that have contracts with demons.”

“You're crazy,” Bela retorted. 

“Am I?” Dean gentled his tone. “I know what you did and I have a pretty good idea why.”

“You don't know anything!” Bela spat.

“What they did to you was unforgivable,” Dean replied. “I get why you made the deal. I wish someone had been there for you, so that you didn't feel like you had no other choice.”

Bela paled dramatically. “Keep your platitudes. We're all going to hell, one way or another.”

Dean snorted. “You put up a good front, but one day, sooner than you think, you'll realize that you really are going to go to hell. You think you know what hell is, but you have no idea of the horror you'll face there.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a card. “I might be able to help you, but don't wait too long. Not even the people I know can save you if you've already got hellhounds on your trail.” 

She took the card and put it in her pocket. Her eyes tracked to the box and back to Dean. 

“Don't even think about it,” Dean warned. 

She growled in frustration and stalked away down the corridor.

“And Bela?” Dean called.

“What?” 

“If I catch you stealing from me or my friends again, I'll express mail you to hell myself.” 

The hateful glare she shot back at him was enough to remind him that even though Bela had been helpful at times, she had no qualms about who was hurt so long as she made money. He'd have to watch his back with her for a while.

He went to the storage room and found the lock was expertly picked and the trip wire was cut. He looked around and found the expected mementos of of his and Sam's childhood. Things that both of them had assumed their father had thrown away. Sam's soccer trophy, Dean's first sawed off shotgun, a pile of Sam's report cards, all of them with straight As. What really surprised Dean was the file folder with his name on it. Inside were crude drawings that he had made over the years. Plans for things he thought would make hunting safer and easier. Including his first draft of how to pack rock salt into shotgun shells. 

He shook his head and carefully placed the folder back where he found it. There was another folder, newer, cleaner with the name Adam printed on it. Inside were copies of baby pictures and a few ticket stubs from a baseball game. A few recent pictures of Adam wrapped carefully in acid free paper. One from a second place science fair award. Another from fishing trip with John and Adam smiling together holding up their catches. 

Right at that moment, he wanted to hate his father. He wanted to hate Adam, but the kid didn't deserve that. He deserved so much more than a life with an absent father and a mother that had to work the night shift as a nurse. 

He placed the hex box back in the spot Bela had stolen it from and noted that there were open spots where things could go in the future. He found an open space near the far wall, inside the weapon locker and placed the box containing Michael's sword the and covered it up with piece of canvas covered in warding marks. It would be safe here for a while at least. 

** **

The two-story farm house was probably close to one hundred years old, but it looked like it was in good shape. In front was a white picket fence and a mail box with the name Milligan painted on it in block letters. 

Dean didn't know how he was going to be able to do this. But they had the right to know and he wasn't going to deny them. John had taken far too many choices away from family members. He couldn't stand the idea of continuing that sort of legacy. 

He walked up to the house and rang the door. Castiel had transported him and the Impala there and had decided to wait at the car. Dean was grateful because, as much as he loved his angel, he wouldn't be able to handle this and Cas' occasional awkward human interactions. 

He walked up to the door and pushed the button to ring the bell. A woman in her mid to late thirty's answered the door. She looked expectantly at him, she was dressed in scrubs and looked tired. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Kate Milligan?” 

“Yes?” she confirmed. 

“My name is Dean Winchester. I'm John Winchester's oldest son,” Dean said. 

“Oh!” Kate blinked and flushed with shock. “Um, he isn't here. If you were looking for him.” 

“I know, and that's one of the reasons I'm here,” Dean replied. “I was wondering if I could talk to you and your son, Adam.” 

“I don't want any trouble,” Kate said warily. 

“Mom?” Adam came into view at the top of the stairs. “Who's at the door?” 

“I'm not here to hurt you or your son,” Dean assured her quietly. “But I have some things that we need to talk about that shouldn't be said in a doorway.” 

“Okay,” Kate agreed. “Please come in.” She lead the way into the well maintained, if dated, kitchen. “Adam, come on down, honey. We have company.” 

There was the unmistakable sound of a teenager stomping down the stairs. Adam came tearing into the kitchen and stopped abruptly at the sight of Dean. What had probably been excitement changed to confusion. 

“Hi,” Dean said awkwardly. 

Adam looked to his mother who cleared her throat. “Adam, this is Dean,” Kate said. “He's John's son.” 

“John had other kids?” Adam blinked in confusion. “He never said anything.” 

Dean nodded an swallowed the bitter taste that statement left. “Yeah, that isn't really that much of a surprise.” 

“Would you like some coffee?” Kate asked, when the silence dragged a little longer than was comfortable. 

“No, thank you,” Dean said. “Please sit.” He waited until they were all seated and cleared his throat. “First, I want to assure both of you that I'm not here to cause you any trouble.” He looked at both anxious faces. “I'm sorry my father never mentioned that he had other kids. I would have liked to have met you sooner.” 

“How old are you?” Adam asked. He seemed curious, which was a good start.

“Twenty-five,” Dean said. “I have another brother, his name is Sam. He's twenty-one and attending Stanford University. He would have come, but he's in the middle of midterms.” 

“John said he was a widower,” Kate said.

“That's true.” Dean confirmed. “My mom died when I was four.” 

“Oh, I'm sorry for your loss,” she replied. 

“Thank you,” Dean turned to Adam. “There is no easy way to say this and I wish there were. John died a few weeks ago.” 

“What?” Kate gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “How?” 

Adam was quiet, his eyes wide and dry.

“His job,” Dean said. “I wish I could say that it was a car accident or something simple.” 

“What was his job?” Adam asked. “He never said. Just that he traveled a lot. 

“He was a hunter,” Dean replied. “It's a dangerous profession and his luck ran out.” 

“That's it? His luck ran out?” Adam demanded. “What the hell does that even mean?” 

“Adam!” Kate admonished. 

“It's fine,” Dean replied. “You have the right to be angry. You only just met your father and now he's gone.” 

“It's not fair,” Adam said, in a way that only teenage logic can. 

“No, it isn't,” Dean agreed. “I wish you could have had more time with him. I wish he could have told you about me and Sam. I wish we'd had a chance to meet before this.” 

“What do you care?” Adam demanded, pushing away from the table. “You got to grow up with him.” 

“I'm not going to argue with you about who was luckier or who had it better.” Dean stood with him. “Because there is no winner here. We all lost.”

“Then what do you want?” Adam asked. The wind taken out of the sails of his indignation. 

Dean swallowed. He wasn't sure if he could do this, but he was going to give it a shot. “Family has always been really important to me. A lot of the time it was just me and Sammy, because Dad was always working. I'm sure you know what that is like.”

“We get by the best we can,” Kate replied. 

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is from Dad's estate. What little there was of it.” 

“We don't want his money,” Adam said. 

“You need it more than I do,” Dean replied. “I don't care what you do with it. Use it for college or fixing the roof, buy yourself a car when you get your license. The money is yours and your mom's.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Kate said, she looked at the check in the envelope and her eyes widened. “You didn't have to do this.” 

“Look this isn't some pay off,” Dean said. “You're family. Despite John trying to keep us from learning about each other. I don't know you and you don't know me, but I would like to be a part of your life, if you'll let me.”

“It's up to you, honey,” Kate said. 

Adam seemed to think about it for a long time. “I'd like that.” 

“Awesome.” Dean beamed. “Since we're getting to know one another, there is something you need to know right off the bat.”

“What's that?” Kate asked warily. 

“My boyfriend is waiting out in the car to see how this meeting ended,” Dean replied. “Would you like to meet him?” 

“Boyfriend?” The Milligans said in unison. 

 

** **

Dean and Castiel pulled into the muddy driveway that lead to the large white canvas tent. A sign proudly proclaiming a 'faith healing mission'. Dozens of sick and injured people slowly made their way into the tent through the driving rain. 

There was a man carrying leaflets protesting the mission. “Don't believe the lies. Reverend Le Grange is a fraud.”

“There is something very wrong here,” Castiel said. 

“I know,” Dean said grimly. “Welcome to Reverend Roy Le Grange's faith healing mission.” 

“There is very dark magic at work.” Castiel climbed out of the Impala and headed for the tent. Dean was only a few steps behind him. The organ player was winding down as the blind pastor was helped onto the stage by his wife. 

“That's Sue Anne,” Dean said quietly. “She has a reaper bound to an amulet she wears.”

“Why would she do such a thing?” Castiel asked. “Reapers are a primordial force. To interfere with one's duties is to risk your very existence.” 

“I think, she just didn't want Roy to die,” Dean replied. “But then she realized she could to more than hold it at bay.”

Castiel scanned the crowd and frowned. “Most of these people are suffering from afflictions that were caused by their own behavior. Why would they ask for a miracle to cure something that they themselves caused?”

“Everyone wants a second chance at life,” Dean replied. “When Sam found Le Grange, I was dying. I screwed up on a hunt and electrocuted myself. Roy chose me to be healed.” He would never lose the guilt he felt when they discovered the price that his miracle cost. “But it cost another his life.”

“Reapers can heal without having to kill others,” Castiel said. “Why would she make someone else die in exchange?” 

“Because Sue Anne believed she was given the power of life and death. She wants to heal those she thinks are worthy and punish anyone she deems wicked.”

“And Roy does not know she is the reason for his ability to heal?” Castiel asked.

“Nope,” Dean sighed as Roy continued to talk about how terrible the world seemed to be now. 

“What happened the first time?” Castiel asked. 

“Sam figured out how she was controlling the reaper and set it free. It killed Sue Anne but left Roy alone.” Dean shook his head. “I found out a couple of years later that Roy's cancer returned and he died before the month was out.” 

“That was not your fault.” Castiel assured him. “His wife meddled with forces she couldn't possibly understand or control for very long. She extended his life unnaturally.”

“Story of my life,” Dean swallowed.

“I have no doubt that Michael or Zachariah had a hand in making sure you lived long enough to send yourself to hell for their purposes.” Castiel took his hand. “The fate of these people is not on you.” 

“Pray with me friends,” Roy said. “It is God that guides my hand today. God who tells me who to heal.”

“Reverend Roy Le Grange,” Castiel called. The crowd turned to see the two men standing in the back, holding hands. “Your power to heal does not come from God.”

“Is that so?” Roy smiled. “Come forward friend.” 

Dean let their hands come apart as they walked. He turned his eyes away from Layla and her mother. She was probably on Roy's short list, but he refused to let himself think about that. 

“What is your name?” Roy asked

“Castiel,” he said. “I am an angel.”

“Is that right?” Roy's smile wavered. There was a titter of laughter through the gathered crowd. “What would bring an angel to my humble mission?” 

“Your wife is using you to kill innocent people as you heal your followers.” 

“I- what?” Roy gasped. “Why would you say such a thing?” 

“I'm sorry, Reverend,” Dean said, approaching the stage. “But it is true.” 

“Don't listen to them, Roy,” Sue Anne said from next to the organist. “Your power comes from God's love.” 

“Right, because it was just a coincidence that a local gay rights activist died of an acute pneumonia at the exact time that Roy healed a man with chronic emphysema,” Dean replied. 

“Sue Anne? Is that true?” Roy asked, his voice shaking. 

“Your wife reads you the paper,” Dean said. “She just reads the articles that she wants you to know about.”

“You're lying,” Sue Anne said. Her hands clutching at a pendant around her neck. “You're trying to destroy a great man's work.” The crowd of faithful around them started making ugly noises. 

“He's helped so many and he asks for nothing in return,” Layla said from her seat. 

“Except for the donations that Sue Anne asks for,” Dean replied.

“That's completely voluntary,” Layla's mother said, angry. “How dare you come here and ruin our only hope.” 

Dean turned to Layla. She was pale and looked more frail than he remembered. “I wish it wasn't true,” he said. “For your sake at least, but this isn't the power of God. It's dark twisted magic from the very early years of the Christian faith.” He turned back to Roy. “Before you lost your sight, before the cancer, you were an avid collector of Christian texts. Including one that dealt with black altars and conjuring and controlling spirits.” 

“I have an extensive collection,” Roy said. “But I do recall several books of that nature.” 

“While there is nothing wrong with having those books, your wife used it to cure your cancer and tether a reaper to you so that you could heal people,” Castiel said. “She chooses who will die as a price for your miracles.” 

“That's not true,” Sue Anne protested. “If wicked people die then it is God's will.”

There was a shadow moving in the room. The reaper appeared before Dean and reached out. The pain was so intense that his vision whited out. It was quite possible that he screamed, but then the pain was gone and Sue Anne was screaming as were many in the crowd. Castiel held the crushed pendant in his hand. He looked up and the reaper was visible to everyone in the room. 

“No, please!” Sue Anne begged. “I'm sorry.” The reaper touched her and she fell to the ground, dead. 

“You're only sorry you got caught,” Dean said with a pained gasp. 

“Dean,” Castiel was next to him a moment later. “Are you well?” 

“I'm getting there,” Dean replied. “Sue Anne just ordered it to kill me and it felt like something in me stretched like a rubber band.” 

“Yes, it seems the curse is as powerful as we feared,” Castiel replied, softly . 

“Sue Anne?” Roy called in confusion. “What's going on?” 

“I'm sorry,” Castiel said as he walked over to the reverend and placed a hand over his eyes. “You had no knowledge of what your wife was doing. There is no blame that falls on you.” He pulled his hand back and Roy blinked out at the crowd, he looked down at his hands and began to weep.

“Why?” Roy asked. “Why did she do this?” He stared at his wife's lifeless form. 

“I don't know,” Castiel said. “Perhaps it was initially an act of desperation because she loved you. But she became ambitious when she saw what else she could do.” 

“What do I do?” Roy asked. “She was the love of my life.” 

“You're a good man,” Dean said. “You have plenty of ways to help people without using magic.” He turned to the crowd. “And anyone that thinks they've been cheated, ask yourself, would you really exchange one life for another? And whose life would you take?” 

The crowd's angry chatter died down and many of them began to make their way to the exit. 

“How dare you take away my daughters one chance to live?” Layla's mother said, furious.

“No, Mom,” Layla said. “They're right. I couldn't live with myself if being cured cost someone else their life.”

“I can't lose you!” she shouted. 

“You won't lose her. Death is not the end, Mrs. Rourke,” Dean said. “There really is a heaven waiting for you.” 

“Who are you to talk about heaven?” she demanded. “You took away my one hope.”

“I'm just a guy that's been where you are,” Dean said. “I lost my family and I couldn't deal with it. I made a terrible choice to keep myself from being alone.” 

The woman stared at Dean like she didn't want to believe a word he said. 

“I was content with my choice, because I couldn't see past my own pain,” Dean continued. “But if I had just allowed myself to grieve and let go, I wouldn't have caused my family so much pain. Now even though I know that I have a place waiting for me, it'll be a long time before I get to be with my family.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Just let my little girl die?” 

“No,” Dean said, calmly. “But instead of huddling in a tent and praying for a miracle, you let Layla do whatever it is she wants with the time that she has left.” He looked at Layla and smiled at her. “Go do something fun, don't waste your time waiting for something that might not come.” 

Layla stepped up to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.” 

Dean watched her walk out of the tent. He felt like he had done something better this time around. 

Epilogue:

May 2006

Dean knocked on the door to Sam's apartment and was greeted by a smiling Jessica. 

“Dean! Cas! It's good to see you again,” she said with a dimpled smile. “Come on in. Sam's not home yet.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” Dean said returning the smile with one of his own. Castiel greeted her as well handing over a bottle of wine.

“Why wouldn't we invite you for Sam's birthday?” Tyson asked from the kitchen area. He looked like he was throwing a salad together. 

“Please tell me there is more to eat than rabbit food,” Dean asked. 

“Don't worry,” Jess beamed. “We've got steaks for the carnivores in the house.” 

Dean helped himself to a beer and made his way deeper into the new, larger, apartment. One that they had needed to upgrade to when Jess moved in to live with Sam and Tyson. That was something that Dean had not expected, even though the three of them had been friends for several years, he had expected Tyson to move out if Sam and Jess got serious. 

The little anti-possession tattoo on Jessica's right shoulder, just peeking out from underneath her low cut top and the small diamond engagement ring on her finger was just another set indicators of how much the timeline had really changed. Sam had told her the truth, had in fact told her everything about how he had grown up. It had probably helped that Tyson had backed him up. Instead of freaking out, Jess had believed them. Had, in fact, taken the steps he'd suggested to protect herself. 

 

Sam was in his first year of law school. Actual law school as apposed to taking all the prerequisite courses and getting his bachelor's degree in criminology as well as a minor in religious studies. His brother had worked incredibly hard to get where he was now and Dean was determined that he have the life that he wanted. He has called him at least once a month, to make sure he was okay. Which Sam appreciated more now that they had've so little close family left. 

Dean couldn't help checking the apartment's wards. He hadn't been there to set them and though he trusted Sam to do it right, but it never hurt to double check everything. 

“This place is really nice. I thought it was smaller though,” Dean said taking in the huge main room and the hallway that led farther back. 

“Oh, it was,” Tyson said with a grin. “The whole complex went up for sale about a year ago, my parents bought it as an investment property after they sold off their mortgage based investments. They converted the top four apartments into two larger ones. When the renovation was done we got to pick which one we wanted.”

“Nice,” Dean replied. 

He remember all too well the time he spent as Dean Smith, remembered the knowledge of investments that had tanked because of the failing economy. He had made some noise about how the things looking sketchy with the way the banks had been running investments. Tyson, who still looked at Dean and Castiel like they were the second coming, took the comment like Dean had hoped and convinced his parents to take a closer look at their portfolio. In return, Tyson had helped Dean set up a fund for both Sam and Adam with his sports winnings. While they weren't rich by any measure, they each had a little nest egg in case they needed it. 

“Do you need any help with anything?” Castiel asked as they busied around him. 

“No, we're good,” Jess replied. “Sit both of you. You're our guests.”

Castiel settled onto the couch and Dean allowed himself to be pulled down next to him. It was nice, being able to relax for a while. The last few years had been a marathon of taking care of hunts that either had been handled by his father or that he and Sam had tackled together after Jess had been killed. 

Castiel had searched for and found the body of the murdered child, deep at the bottom of Lake Manitoc. The local sheriff and his best friend were arrested for the murder after an anonymous tip had lead to authorities digging up the boy's missing bike in the sheriff's back yard. The boy's spirit went to his rest after his mother cremated his body, before he could take his vengeance out on any innocent lives. The families of the two men would never be the same, but no one would die.

Not every hunt ended well, some hunts were missed or taken up by other hunters. Time and distance made it hard to remember every hunt, but he was confident that they'd won more than they lost. 

The door opened about an hour after they had arrived and Sam staggered into the apartment. He looked exhausted, but that was normal for a second year law student, or so they kept telling him. Dean wondered how it was possible for education to be so taxing. But then he had been on a hunt himself for any signs of the Men of Letters so it wasn't all that unusual to find himself buried in a pile of dusty old books in some obscure library or book collector's home. 

The MoL were still around, in Europe, but every overture he'd made so far had been met with silence. If he didn't get a reply soon he was going to take Castiel up on his suggestion and take Angel Air and knock on some door in person. But it could wait, if there was one thing he had learned in the past few years, it was that he had nothing but time.

Sam blinked in when he caught sight of him and smiled broadly. “Dean!” He practically teleported over and enveloped him in a tight hug. “I wasn't expecting you. I thought you were on that big vampire hunt with Elkins and Walker.”

Dean's smile faltered. “Yeah well, that didn't work out all that great. I bailed as soon as I could.”

Sam studied him. “Since when do you leave a hunt?” 

“Since Gordon Walker is an obsessed nut job that can't follow a simple plan of attack,” Dean replied. “I should have known better than to work with him, but Elkins called for backup and we were the only ones in the area.” 

“Ouch.” Sam winced. “Everyone okay?” 

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “But only because Cas was monitoring from heaven.” 

“Elkins was badly injured,” Castiel said. “It required intervention.”

“Dinner is ready!” Tyson called. 

The five of them sat and enjoyed their meal. It was nice to see Sam so happy, his eyes filed with love and contentment. Gifts were brought out and everyone was having a great time. Dean stood back as Sam tried on a new tailored suit for going to court that Tyson had bought for him. He looked amazing; strong, healthy, happy with his life. 

“Did Sam tell you we went on a hunt together?” Jess said, smiling.

“Excuse me, what?” Dean turned to Sam in shock. “What happened to being through with the family business?” 

Sam blushed. “It was just a little salt and burn, less than ten miles from here.” 

“It was amazing!” Jess said. “I thought we were all gonna die at one point but it was the most exciting experience.”

“It was fine,” Tyson assured Dean. “We had each other's backs.”

“You think it's possible to live a semi-normal life and still hunt?” Sam asked. 

Dean thought about his mother, what she had wanted and what had actually happened. “I think it's a balancing act, but if you're comfortable with it, I'm in no position to tell you it can't work.” He looked at the three roommates and said seriously. But if you see something that looks too tough, you call me, I'll be there to back you up. Got it?” 

“You're such a good brother,” Jess said and hugged him. 

“You'll be best man at our wedding, right?” Sam asked.

“I'd be honored,” Dean replied smiling. 

There was a strange rattling noise, coming from the pantry door. They all turned in shock as the edges of the door began to glow. Dean and Castiel pushed the other three behind them as the door burst open and a man fell through. He was wearing a rumpled blue three-piece suit and shiny leather loafers. He stood unsteadily and looked around the room. 

“Tell me quickly,” he began. “Which one of you is John Winchester?”

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
